John Bates' Mission
by raymondokatz
Summary: John Bates tried to see the best in people, but seeing the best in Thomas Barrow was more of a challenge than he felt obliged to accept. Then again, there was something about Thomas. (This story provides crucial Downton Abbey details that Julian Fellowes chose to omit.) Hope to publish chapter 105 by June 2nd.
1. After

**CHAPTER 1: AFTER**

 **Summer 1925**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

"NO!" Thomas Barrow roared as he woke from the depths. In any case, his brain roared, but the word got lost in his throat, and he merely gurgled.

"I'm almost finished," Dr Richard Clarkson assured him as he trimmed yet another of the stitches he had taken in Thomas' wrists.

Thomas ordered his arms to grab Dr Clarkson by the collar and heave him into the wall, but his arms were indifferent to his demands. His mind stumbled. Why could he not move? Why was Dr Clarkson in his room? Why was his room so cold? Thomas tried to focus, but each thought faded into nothingness before he could seize it. Something about Molesley making a life for himself ... something about a warm bath ... something about never waking up ...

"NO!" Thomas croaked as panic seized him. "I WON'T WAKE UP!"

"Did you say something?" asked Dr Clarkson, rolling down his sleeves.

There was something Thomas was supposed to say ... something urgent ... something his mum had told him ... no, not his mum ... she had been gone for years ... but he had seen her ... he was certain he had seen her ... her warm smile ... her laughing eyes ... but where was her pompadour? Had he been dreaming? He remembered red water ... red water ... and there she was ... a lovely ghost with hair that flowed to her waist ...

Bates. Mum had said something about Bates. Bates and Anna. Perhaps if he saw them, perhaps then he would remember. "Bates and Anna, Bates and Anna," Thomas pleaded.

"Yes, we know," Dr Clarkson replied evenly. You've been asking for them. Baxter went to find them as soon as we understood that you weren't asking for a banana."

Dr Clarkson slipped into his coat. "Barrow, you've suffered a considerable loss of blood. You must remain in bed, drink as much tea as you can manage, and eat everything Mrs Hughes brings you. She's speaking to Mrs Patmore now." Dr Clarkson continued in his matter-of-fact way, "I'm not going to report your error in judgment to the police, but I won't untie you until I'm confident that your judgment has improved."

 _Untie me?_ Thomas looked at his arms and saw that they were tied to the bed frame and that his wrists were bandaged. The red water ... he remembered now ... a warm bath makes the blood flow ... he had read it in a detective story. How could they have found him? He had chosen the time so carefully. He was never supposed to wake up. WHY WAS HE AWAKE?

Elsie Hughes bustled in the door carrying a tray of soup, tea, and toast and set it on the bedside table. She was relieved to see that Thomas' eyes were open. "Here's an elixir from Mrs Patmore to revive you. Doesn't it smell delicious, Mr Barrow?"

Thomas could not bring himself to look at Mrs Hughes. She must think him an abysmal coward.

* * *

 **The Servants' Hall**

John Bates could not believe what Phyllis Baxter was saying. "What could Barrow possibly want with us?" he thundered. Baxter fell back as though she had been slapped. Embarrassed by his outburst, Bates composed himself. "You must have misunderstood."

Baxter knew that Bates was not a callous man. "I don't know what he wants with you. I know he has harmed you in the past, but everything has worked out for you, hasn't it? What does Mr Barrow have now? Nothing."

Bates looked at his pregnant wife, Anna, who had collapsed onto a chair, her colour drained. He rested his hands protectively on her shoulders. "My wife is expectant. You can't ask me to subject her to more of such an appalling act ... and by a man like Barrow."

Baxter knelt next to Anna and made her case, "I've known Thomas Barrow since he was a boy. His sister and I were close friends. His father wouldn't accept what Thomas was, and he couldn't change it. He came to loathe Thomas and humiliated him at every turn. Thomas was thirteen when his mother died, and he ran away. He taught himself never to let down his guard, and that left him an isolated man. He has no friends and now the threat of no job and no home. It's too much for him."

Baxter stood and appealed again to Bates, "He came here a boy, but he's never belonged. He's tried to turn things around. You know he has." Bates was hesitant.

Anna had been overcome by the sight of Thomas so close to death, but now she collected herself. She knew she and Bates would respond to Thomas' request. She stood and took Bates' arm. "Let's not keep him waiting any longer. He's been through enough."

* * *

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

"Here are Bates and Anna to see you, just as you asked," Mrs Hughes announced cheerfully.

Anna tried to match Mrs Hughes' breezy tone, "I hope you're feeling better, Mr Barrow. Is there anything you need?"

Thomas stared, unable to unscramble his thoughts. He knew he wanted them there, desperately, but he could not remember why. What had mum said ... what had she told him to say?

Bates approached Thomas intending to make some casual remark. But when he saw Thomas' colourless face and weakened state, he was shocked. For a moment, he thought Dr Clarkson had bandaged the wrists of a dead man. When he saw that Thomas had been tied to his bed, Bates was filled with shame. Baxter was right. Things were going well for Anna and him now. He had witnessed Thomas' failed efforts to make friends among the staff, yet Bates chose to be suspicious and seldom resisted a sharp retort whenever the man spoke.

Anna gave Bates a reproachful glance. He knew she was waiting for him to say something pleasant to Thomas. But saying something pleasant was not going to suffice. Bates had good instincts, and his instincts told him that Thomas would try suicide again, and probably succeed next time. Someone needed to make a connection with Thomas, but how? Thomas lived apart, encased in a shell of his own making ... a hard shell that Thomas polished to a high sheen with every syllable he uttered, with every self-satisfied smirk. That shell had to be cracked, but Bates was not the man to do it. No, he was not the man for this job.

Thomas struggled to remember what he was supposed to say to Bates and Anna. He stared at Bates who was towering over his bed. "My mum came to me ... I'm supposed to ask you ... tell you ... ask you ... I can't remember!" Tears slid down Thomas' cheeks and dissolved the last of Bates' resistance.

Bates handed his cane to Anna and sat on the bed. He wiped away Thomas' tears with his handkerchief and with his fingers smoothed Thomas' mussed hair away from his eyes. He leaned forward to speak privately into Thomas' ear. As his face brushed Thomas' bloodless cheek, he was shaken by the iciness of his skin ... skin so cold it was almost blue. Bates let go of his shock and spoke with an easy calm, "Everything's going to work out, son, I promise. When you're strong enough, we'll have a long talk. But right now, we're going to take care of you, and you're going to let us. There's no cause for you to worry."

Bates untied Thomas' right arm, and Dr Clarkson immediately untied his left. It was Bates' nature to inspire confidence, even in a doctor.

"Dr Clarkson, he's shivering," Bates remarked casually so as not to upset Thomas.

Dr Clarkson was unconcerned. "That's to be expected. He'll warm up with some hot soup and tea. Be careful that he doesn't burn himself."

Bates stood and looked at Baxter, Anna, and Mrs Hughes, who were staring at him agape. "Would you please help Mr Barrow to sit. I believe he'd care for some soup." Leaning against the bed for support, he removed his coat and handed it to Anna.

Mrs Hughes and Baxter flanked the narrow bed and scooped Thomas into a sitting position. Bates leaned the pillow against the iron headboard and slid himself between the pillow and Thomas. He gently eased Thomas back against his own chest.

While Anna tested the temperature of the soup, Bates pulled the blanket around Thomas' shoulders, carefully slipping his bandaged wrists underneath. Then he reached his arms over the blanket and held Thomas close. "I'll warm you."

Thomas, still shivering but cognizant enough to be deeply embarrassed, blurted, "You're treating me like an infant."

Thomas did not mean to sound unappreciative. He glanced up, expecting to see a ring of annoyed faces, but Anna, Baxter, Mrs Hughes, and even Dr Clarkson laughed with relief. Mrs Hughes observed, "I'm glad you're getting back a little of your own, Mr Barrow."

Dr Clarkson headed for the door with Mrs Hughes. "I'll explain to Carson that Barrow must not be left alone. Perhaps Mrs Crawley would like to help. She does love to be of assistance," Dr Clarkson chuckled. "I'll check back tonight."

It was Baxter's half-day, but she excused herself to get a start on Anna's duties. She thought it was sensible for Anna to stay off her feet for a bit and remain with Bates.

Anna offered a spoonful of soup to Thomas. Thomas had always counted himself lucky to live in a house with a cook as capable as Mrs Patmore, even if he had never said so. He closed his eyes and savoured the hot mouthful. He was certain that he had never eaten anything as comforting as Mrs Patmore's bone marrow soup. It was flavourful and rich, and when he swallowed, it soothed his parched throat and warmed him from the inside. Thomas sighed and surrendered to Bates' warm chest and arms. He could not remember when he had felt this comfortable. He made short work of the soup and murmured, "Mrs Patmore's soup is like a taste of heaven."

"You should know, son," Bates chided gently, but only he understood his little joke.

Anna smiled. "Mrs Patmore will be gratified to hear such a high opinion of her soup."

Thomas was startled. Had he said it aloud? Something was not right. Bates and Anna were not his friends. He had no friends. Well, there was Baxter. At least she was not his enemy. Thomas had no friends, but merely people who were not his enemies ... yet.

Why were Bates and Anna behaving this way? Why had he needed to see them? He wanted to remember ... he needed to remember ... but he was so comfortable ... he only wanted to close his eyes and sleep.

Was Bates trying to make a fool of him? Was Bates going to mock him later in front of the entire staff? Thomas tried to break free from Bates' hold but barely had the strength to lift his head. "Don't treat me like a baby!"

Anna had been admiring Thomas' handsome face. He could be an attractive man during those odd moments when he was relaxed. Now he was glaring at her in that ugly, disdainful way of his.

Bates was alarmed. Already, Thomas was slipping back into that confounded shell of his. If only he could make one crack. One little crack. He had to shock Thomas ... knock him off balance. Bates held Thomas tightly in his powerful arms. "You're my baby until you're strong enough to sit up on your own. So accept it." And with that, Bates planted a big kiss right on Thomas' cheek.

The tiniest bit of colour crept up Thomas' neck and face and over his ears. What was happening? Had he died? Was this Hell? Was Bates his personal Satan?

Anna was stunned. Was she sitting with not one, but two, madmen? She knew her husband well; who was _this_ lunatic? She looked at poor Thomas. Gone was disdain. In its place was utter bewilderment.

"You must drink some tea," commanded Bates. "Anna, please bring Mr Barrow a cup of tea, not too hot." Anna prepared a cup of tea and held it to Thomas' lips. Thomas drank the tea obediently without comment.

"You're not shivering now. Help me, Anna. I think Mr Barrow needs to rest for a bit." Bates slid out from behind Thomas and lay the pillow flat. From the other side of the bed, Anna helped Bates lower Thomas to the pillow. Bates made sure Thomas' wrists were in a comfortable position before tucking the blanket securely around Thomas from his neck to his feet. Then he sat on the bed.

Thomas wanted them to go. _Leave me alone. Leave me in peace. Leave ... leave ... get out!_ the voice inside his head screamed.

Isobel Crawley burst in the door accompanied by Mrs Hughes, who was carrying a fresh tray of tea and biscuits. "I'll take charge of Barrow now. You're to go and have your dinner," announced Mrs Crawley beaming. She immediately began to rearrange Thomas' sparse furniture into a more efficient sick room. "Mrs Hughes, if you could locate a few extra pillows and sheets and as many towels as you can spare, that would be helpful."

"I'll see what I can do, Mrs Crawley." Mrs Hughes set down the tray and hurried out but not before advising Bates and Anna to get their dinners while the getting was good. Bates shifted his weight to his sound leg and stood.

"Don't go!" Thomas did not mean to say it, he did not know why he said it, but he said it all the same, and he said it once more for good measure. "Don't go!"

Bates turned back to Thomas and smiled. "I'll be back in a bit," he assured Thomas as Anna helped him with his coat. "I think Mr Barrow would feel more comfortable with another man in the room, Mrs Crawley. I'll come back after dinner to see what help I can offer you." He gave Thomas a wink, and he and Anna were out the door.

With the door shut behind them, Bates leaned against it heavily and sighed. He squeezed his wife's hand. "Did I refuse to see it, Anna? Was I too busy being smug?"

Here was the pensive, compassionate man Anna knew. She squeezed his hand in return. "You're doing what you can now. That's what matters. Let's eat, John. I'm starving!"

Bates hurried to keep pace with his pregnant wife.


	2. The Red Sea

**CHAPTER 2: THE RED SEA**

 **An hour later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

Mrs Crawley was giving Thomas a sponge bath because, as she cheerfully explained, he had been found in a tub of water and his own blood. If bits of dried blood were left clinging to his skin, they would become irritating and unhygienic.

Thomas could barely sit, let alone escape Mrs Crawley. He clenched his teeth and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. If he had known how it was going to be, he would not have bothered to slit his wrists. He simply would have removed his clothes, served dinner naked, and died of embarrassment.

Mrs Crawley had been a nurse and bathed Thomas efficiently. She spoke of the loss of her son and how she had raised her own spirits by helping others. She encouraged Thomas to do the same. But Thomas' thoughts were elsewhere. Mrs Crawley had filled Thomas so full of tea that he did not know how much longer he could hold it. _Where the devil was Bates?_

At that moment, Bates walked in carrying the day's newspaper.

"Just in time, Bates." Mrs Crawley handed Bates a towel. "You may pat him dry while I make preparations to change his bandages. You'll be changing them yourself next time, so pay close attention. We don't want an infection, do we? After that, I must be off."

Bates did as he was told, but he struggled to contain his amusement over Thomas' predicament. Thomas' gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, but Mrs Crawley saw the suppressed mirth in Bates' expression.

"Do you find this amusing, Bates?" chastised Mrs Crawley. "Can't you see this man is suffering?"

"Yes, I can see it plainly," replied Bates solemnly, his eyes filling with tears of swallowed laughter.

"Well, then." Mrs Crawley turned her attention to the bandages, but Bates was certain he saw a smile pass her lips.

Bates paid strict attention to Mrs Crawley's exhaustive bandaging demonstration. Satisfied, Mrs Crawley removed her borrowed apron, assured Thomas that things would look brighter tomorrow, and bade Thomas and Bates good day.

As soon as Mrs Crawley departed, Bates provided the assistance Thomas needed to relieve himself while Bates took his turn to gaze at the ceiling.

Thomas was still dehydrated. No matter how much tea he drank, he felt parched and his head pounded. Bates gave him aspirin and helped him down two glasses of water. He dressed Thomas in fresh pyjamas and combed his hair. "Usually only Lord Grantham receives the full John Bates treatment," Bates remarked. "Tomorrow, you shall have the privilege of a John Bates shave."

Thomas admitted to himself that he felt refreshed. He could not admit to himself, however, how much he enjoyed having Bates fuss over him.

Bates picked up the newspaper, pulled the lone chair in the room to the side of the bed, and sat. "I thought you might rest while I read you the paper. Mrs Hughes will bring your dinner tray soon. I saw Mrs Patmore putting aside a few special morsels for you from the family's meal."

Thomas closed his eyes. "Then everyone knows?"

"Nothing travels so fast as ill news," quoted Bates.

* * *

 **Late Evening**

Thomas was sleeping. Bates stood and stretched his stiff legs. Dr Clarkson had come and gone. He had assured Bates that Thomas' condition was improving but insisted that he not be left alone for at least a couple of days. Mrs Hughes offered Bates and Anna a room in the house for the duration. Bates was waiting now for Carson, who would sit with Thomas while he and Anna retrieved some necessities from the cottage.

Bates was restless. He glanced about Thomas' tidy room. There was not much to see. On the chest of drawers was a book and a faded photograph in an old frame. Bates examined the photograph. It was of a woman seated on a park bench and a girl standing beside her. They must be the mother and sister Baxter mentioned. Both bore a striking resemblance to Thomas. They had his dark hair and fine features, but unlike Thomas, they radiated warmth and good humour. Bates set down the frame and picked up the book. It was a library book, _A Passage to India_ , from the public collection at the village school. Bates carried it to the chair and sat.

Bates thumbed through the pages absently. He ached to be with his wife. He had always been charmed by Anna's petite figure. Now she was developing the curves of motherhood. The more Anna's small belly swelled, the more his passion for her grew. What the hell was he doing here? A week from now, Thomas would be sitting in the servants' hall again, as arrogant and treacherous as ever. Was this a man worth saving? No one would judge Bates badly if he gave up this business.

But Bates knew why he was there. One recent afternoon, Carson had dispatched Bates to the nursery to retrieve a pair of Master George's shoes for repair. There he found Thomas serving pretend luncheon to Miss Sybbie, an assortment of her dolls, and Master George. Nanny was seated in a corner chair, nodding off. Bates observed the domestic scene silently from behind the open door.

"Do we have a savoury today, Mr Barrow?" inquired Miss Sybbie.

"Your favourite, Miss Sybbie, devils on horseback," replied Thomas as he formally offered the plate of imaginary titbits to each guest.

"Do you have a recitation for us, Mr Barrow?"

"Yes, Miss Sybbie." Thomas stepped in front of his audience. " _The Grand Old Duke of York_ ," Thomas announced. Miss Sybbie and Master George clapped enthusiastically, and Thomas bowed deeply.

"The Grand Old Duke of York" ( _Thomas saluted_ )

"He had ten thousand men" ( _Thomas held up ten fingers_ )

"He marched them up to the top of the hill" ( _Thomas stood tall and marched in place_ )

"And he marched them down again." ( _Thomas crouched but continued to march_ )

"When they were up, they were up" ( _Thomas marched standing tall_ )

"And when they were down, they were down" ( _Thomas marched crouching_ )

"And when they were only halfway up" ( _Thomas stood bent over at the waist_ )

"They were neither up nor down." ( _Thomas shrugged_ )

Thomas repeated the recitation and gestures while Miss Sybbie and Master George spoke the words with him. With each recitation, they quickened the pace until Miss Sybbie and Master George were squealing with delight, and Thomas was gasping for breath.

Bates could delay his assigned task no longer. He knocked at the nursery door. "May I interrupt?"

Thomas took a formal stance and announced, "Mr John Bates, Valet to the Earl of Grantham."

That same night, Bates observed Thomas working late to finish the tasks he had not completed while entertaining the children. Bates thought about the many times he had seen Thomas giving "horsy" rides to Master George and the many times later when he saw him tottering down the corridor trying to work out the kinks in his back. Who was this man, a marvel to the children but a pariah to the servants? "Damn you, Barrow, who are you?"

Thomas stirred and mumbled something unintelligible. Bates froze, and Thomas fell back asleep.

Bates was becoming impatient. Carson should have been there by now. Bates leaned back in the chair and thought about how happy Anna and the prospect of fatherhood made him. With his love of children, Thomas must be anxious to begin a family of his own. Bates stopped himself. Thomas was a _confirmed bachelor_ ; there would be no children in his future. Bates knew of men like Thomas who had married and had families and conducted double lives. Bates had little sympathy for such charlatans. Thomas was clever and an attractive man. He could have deceived some innocent girl into marriage but had not chosen that path. He had chosen to lead an honest life in that regard, at least.

Bates thought about the penalty Thomas faced if he were ever caught by the police in a compromising situation. Two years at hard labour. He could not understand why a man would want to make physical love to another man, but he could not understand why a man should be punished for it either. He thought about the life Thomas had to endure. No family. No children. No hope. He tried to imagine how he would feel if he were to lose Anna and his unborn baby. "Barrow, what are you doing to me?" he whispered.

Bates heard the familiar sound of Carson's heavy footsteps in the corridor and quickly took out his handkerchief and dabbed his moist eyes.

* * *

 **Night**

Thomas sat on the beach and let the warm water wash over him. _Why is the water red?_ wondered Thomas as the waves rolled over his legs and belly. _This must be the Red Sea!_

Each new wave rose higher, first to his waist, then to his chest, now almost to his neck. Soon it would be over his head. Thomas closed his eyes and waited.

"Thomas, what are you doing here?"

Thomas opened his eyes. A woman seemed to be floating in front of him. He could not see her clearly, but she was wearing a tea gown, and her long dark hair danced about her face.

"Who are you?"

The woman showered him with a sparkling laugh. "Tadpole, don't you know me?"

Only one person called Thomas by that name. "Mum? Mum, what's happened to you?"

"What a question!" laughed Mum.

"I only meant ... I've never seen you with your hair down."

Mum had been an industrious woman. Every day of Thomas' childhood, she was dressed and making breakfast when he woke up and working on the books for his father's clockmaking business when he went to bed. Her hair was always in a pompadour, and she was always dressed in a shirtwaist and a long skirt. Thomas knew she would not have owned anything as frivolous as a tea gown.

Mum called him Tadpole, but only when they were alone. She called him Thomas in front of the family, and Mr Barrow in front of everyone else. The other boys' mums embarrassed them with kisses and pet names in public. Mum would shake Thomas' hand and say, ' _Good day, Mr Barrow_ ,' before she hurried off to her busy day. When Thomas behaved badly, Mum called him Mr Frog.

"Mum, is this Heaven? Are you an angel?"

"Do you see wings, Tadpole?" Mum had taught him to be observant and to use his head.

"No, Mum."

"I do live in Heaven, but this most certainly is not Heaven. We're on the beach at the Red Sea. What are you doing at the Red Sea, Thomas?" Mum demanded.

"Mum, I'm ... I'm going to Hell! Please help me!"

"There is no Hell, Tadpole. There are only people waiting to get into Heaven."

 _No Hell?_ That did not sound right, but Thomas knew he could count on Mum to tell him the truth.

"Mum, may I ... am I able to touch you?" Thomas longed to feel Mum's arms around him.

"No, Tadpole. You may not touch me because you're still alive. You must _stay_ alive, Tadpole. You're not ready for Heaven!"

"Are people's bodies restored in Heaven? Are they young again? Can they not feel pain?"

Mum laughed. "You haven't changed, Tadpole. Always full of questions. As a matter of fact, I stubbed my toe on the way here, and it hurt like the dickens."

Thomas was shaken. "There's pain in Heaven?"

"It would be unbearable if every day in Heaven were perfect. After all, we're there for an eternity, aren't we?" Mum laughed again. "What we don't have in Heaven is fear. Without the possibility of death, people have no use for it. And where there's no fear, there's no hatred."

"Mum ... you mean no one in Heaven would hate me for being ... no one would hate me?"

"One step at a time, Tadpole. Heaven is a long way off for you. You have a lot of work to do first."

"Oh, Mum, I want to be with you." Thomas could not hold back his tears. Each tear splashed loudly into the Red Sea.

"Now, Mr Frog, none of that," Mum scolded gently. "There are no shortcuts, Thomas. No more visits to the Red Sea. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mum."

"What kind of man have you become, Tadpole?"

Thomas had never lied to Mum. He swallowed hard and spoke honestly. "You would be ashamed of me, Mum. I'm not a kind man. I've hurt others," Thomas confessed.

"Do you mean fisticuffs?"

"No, Mum, not fisticuffs. I mean I've lied and cheated and twisted everything to my own benefit! And I don't like women; I like men!"

"There's no need to raise your voice, Mr Frog."

Perhaps she did not understand. "Mum, I said, I don't like women."

"Yes, Tadpole, I heard you."

Thomas was going to have to speak plainly. "I mean I have sex with men."

"Yes, Tadpole, that's lovely. Now tell me, dear, have you done anything in your life of which you are proud?"

 _Lovely? That's lovely?_ Thomas was baffled.

"Thomas, I asked you a question. I can't drift about here all day."

"I didn't hear the question, Mum."

"Have you ever done anything for someone else's benefit?"

Thomas thought hard. "During the war, I tried to help a blind man learn how to live without his sight."

"Yes, and he speaks highly of you Tadpole. Anything else?"

"I took a beating for a man I liked, and I saved a woman from a fire."

"Those are the actions of an altruistic man, Tadpole."

"No, Mum. I didn't think before the beating or the rescue. I acted without thinking."

"Don't you see, darling, when we act without thinking, we are our true selves. You only have to be your true self, Tadpole."

"But, Mum, I don't know what that means. I don't know how to begin."

"You begin by going to each person you have harmed and making amends," instructed Mum.

"Do I beg forgiveness?"

"Mr Frog! You do not beg forgiveness. You may forgive others, but begging forgiveness is only talk. You make amends by doing, not talking. _Talk is cheap, but it takes money to buy whiskey_."

Thomas was trying his best to understand. "Mum, do you mean I must make amends by giving away my money?"

"Thomas, you're smarter than that! You mustn't be so literal. You'll have difficulty in Heaven if you're always so literal. You don't make amends by paying with money; you make amends by paying with yourself."

"Myself? But Mum ... no one wants me."

"Make amends, Tadpole. If you don't know how, then ask for help. Ask the people to whom you've caused the greatest harm. Who would that be, Tadpole?"

Thomas could not think, and clouds were thickening around him. "I don't know. Bates and Anna?"

"Then you must ask Bates and Anna for help, Thomas. And don't lose your arms."

"What?"

"Your arms, Tadpole. They're floating away. Hurry, Thomas, swim after them!"

Thomas looked at his arms. They had come loose from his body and were floating away on the Red Sea. He tried to swim after them, but he could not swim without arms.

The water was becoming rough. Thomas watched transfixed as a red wave peaked and crashed over him. When the water receded, his arms were nowhere to be seen. "My arms!" he screamed. "Mum, I can't find my arms!"

"Get ahold of yourself, man!"

Thomas' eyes popped open. A giant was looming over him, and a girl was screaming.

"Mr Barrow, stop that caterwauling immediately and tell me what's wrong," demanded Charles Carson.

"My arms! I've lost my arms!" cried Thomas, waving his arms desperately.

"I see," Carson replied calmly. "I think we've found them, Mr Barrow. Let's put them away for safe keeping." Carson leaned over from his great height, straightened the tangled blanket and pulled it up over Thomas' arms.

Thomas pushed himself into a sitting position. "I didn't know where I was. I'm sorry, Mr Carson. I forgot myself."

Bates flung open the door, breathing heavily, "What's wrong? I heard screaming!"

"Mr Barrow had a bad dream," and the matter was dismissed as far as Carson was concerned. "I trust you and Anna are settled, and I am free to go home to my wife now."

Bates was still catching his breath. "Certainly, Mr Carson. Please tell Mrs Hughes that Anna and I appreciate her letting us stay here."

"Of course. I'll leave you then." At the door, Carson turned to Thomas. "I hope to see you back to work soon, Mr Barrow." And he was gone.

Bates smiled. "I do believe Mr Carson just wished you well."

It had been a long, difficult day. Bates was tired and his limp was more pronounced than usual as he approached the bed. He leaned his cane against the wall and regarded Thomas. "You're sitting up on your own, Mr Barrow. I suppose my baby doesn't need me anymore."

 _Was Bates leaving?_ Panic took hold of Thomas' senses. His heart pounded, his throat tightened, and his ears buzzed. He felt as though he were suffocating.

Bates patted Thomas' shoulder and eased himself onto the chair.

 _Bates was staying._ Thomas leaned back against the iron headboard and forced himself to breathe deeply. "I had that dream again. That same dream with my mother."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I remember what she said now."

"Do you want to tell me?"

" _Talk is cheap._ "

"Yes ... well ... still, I'm a bit curious."

"No, she said, ' _Talk is cheap!_ '"

"Oh." That was an odd message for an angel to deliver.

Thomas saw Bates' disappointment. "No, Bates, she said ... she said ..." Thomas spoke with difficulty; he was utterly drained, and his head was pounding again.

"I know, son. You'll tell me when you're ready." Bates stood and took an extra pillow from Mrs Crawley's stash to make Thomas more comfortable. "Why don't you call me John when we're in your room ... or when you come to our cottage for dinner."

Thomas had never been invited to anyone's home ... at least, not since he was a boy. He did not know what to say, so he said nothing.

Bates picked up the newspaper and sat down again. "Shall we pick up where we left off? Let's see … the Scopes trial in the States?"

"Yes ... John ... that's a good one." Thomas settled back and closed his eyes. "Americans!"


	3. The John Bates Treatment

**CHAPTER 3: THE JOHN BATES TREATMENT**

 **The next morning**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

Andy Parker had agreed to take a turn sitting with Thomas during the night so Bates could get some sleep. How could he not? Thomas had given up his free time to teach Andy to read, and Andy appreciated it even though his efforts were for naught. For the entire night, Andy sat alert in the hard chair terrified that Thomas would succumb to his self-inflicted injuries.

When Thomas awoke, he quietly explained to Andy what assistance he required, and Andy did his best. Now Thomas was sitting at the edge of the bed waiting for breakfast. Andy had helped Thomas, albeit clumsily, with his robe and slippers.

When Bates rapped on the door, Thomas was gratified that the courtesy of knocking had been restored to him. Andy was relieved to see Bates, knocking or otherwise. Bates instructed Andy to return after his breakfast with a basin of hot water.

Mrs Hughes arrived with Bates, carrying a breakfast tray for Thomas and Bates to share. "Well now, Mr Barrow, you have some colour this morning," observed Mrs Hughes.

"Yes, Mrs Hughes. I expect I'll be back to work in a day or so."

Mrs Hughes glanced at Bates and replied, "No need to hurry, Mr Barrow. I'm sure you'll be up and about in no time."

As soon as the door closed behind Mrs Hughes, Thomas asked Bates why he needed a basin of hot water.

"Don't you remember? I promised you a shave today. Would you like to sit in the chair for breakfast, Thomas?"

Thomas nodded. Even with Bates' assistance, Thomas' legs wobbled under him as he moved from the bed to the chair. As Thomas studied him in silence, Bates carefully moved the tray to the chest of drawers. It was difficult for him to carry with both hands and not stumble. He pulled the bedside table to the chair and prepared a plate for Thomas.

At length, Thomas broke his silence. "I'd like to shave myself," he asserted.

"But I promised you the full John Bates treatment."

"You don't shave Lord Grantham. He shaves himself."

Bates prepared a cup of tea for Thomas. "I have a rough beard, Thomas. I know all the particulars of a comfortable shave. You'll enjoy it."

"I want to shave myself," Thomas insisted.

"Let's discuss it after breakfast."

Thomas' voice tightened, "I want to shave myself!"

"Tomorrow perhaps."

"You're afraid I'll use the blade to cut my wrists!" accused Thomas.

"What?"

"Do you think I'd do that right in front of you?" Thomas shrilled.

Bates brought Thomas' tea to the table. "Take this tea," he ordered.

"Set it on the table."

"TAKE THIS TEA!" Bates commanded.

Thomas was taken aback. He held out his hands and accepted the cup, but his hands were shaking. The hot tea sloshed onto the table. Bates rescued the cup and set it down. Bates had been angry; now he was embarrassed. Thomas could have scalded himself. "I'm sorry, Thomas, I shouldn't have done that. I only wanted you to see that you aren't steady." Bates took a towel from Mrs Crawley's tidy arrangement of sick room supplies and wiped the table dry. Thomas stared down at his hands; they were trembling in his lap.

Bates sat on the edge of the bed. Thomas looked at Bates with the chagrin of a footman who had just spilled a decanter of Bordeaux on Lord Grantham's favourite carpet. "Thomas, your hands will stop shaking. Give yourself a little time. Good god, man. It was only yesterday that I looked at you and thought I was looking at a corpse. It was a terrible thing to see, Thomas. Did you expect to carry on today as though nothing had happened?"

"I thought I'd never have to carry on again," Thomas murmured.

Even though Bates knew it was true, hearing Thomas say it aloud unnerved him. He didn't know what to do; he didn't know what to say. He had already blundered once this morning. Bates leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. "I want to help you, son. Tell me what you need."

" _Ask for help._ _You must_ a _sk Bates and Anna for help._ " The words danced in Thomas' head. " _Make amends._ " How could Thomas ask Bates for help? How could he disclose the monstrous acts for which he must make amends? Bates would despise him. Bates would abandon him.

Thomas felt a swell of despair rising in his chest. He averted his eyes from Bates' intense gaze. "I need you to leave. _Please_." Thomas didn't want Bates to witness what was about to happen.

"Thomas, that's the one thing I can't do," Bates replied gently.

"I'm begging you, John," Thomas choked.

Bates reached across the table and grasped Thomas' hand. "I can't."

Thomas jerked his hand away as though he had touched a hot pan. He pressed his lips together tightly, but it was no use. A small whimper broke free.

Bates saw Thomas' eyes welling with tears. "Let it go, son. I won't listen," he promised softly.

Thomas could not contain his anguish. "Oh god!" He covered his face with his hands to hide his shame.

Bates wanted to give Thomas a sense of privacy. But the sound of his desperate sobs made something inside Bates ache. Until that moment, Bates had not fully understood the depth of Thomas' pain. He stood, pushed the table aside, and gingerly placed his hands on Thomas' shoulders. Thomas' drew a sharp breath. Then he dropped his hands and pressed his face against Bates. Bates eased his arms around Thomas, who wept until he was spent.

As Thomas calmed, he lifted his head but did not look at Bates. "I didn't want you to see me blubbering like a fool. I didn't want you to think that I was a..."

"What ... a man with feelings?" Bates put his hand under Thomas' chin and brought Thomas' face to his own. "Do you think I've never shed a tear?"

Thomas sat back in the chair and regarded Bates. No, he couldn't imagine this stoic bear of a man bawling.

Bates moistened Thomas' facecloth with cool water from the pitcher. He gave it to Thomas, allowing him the dignity of wiping his own tears.

"You must be hungry." Bates lifted the cloche and prepared Thomas a fresh plate and took Thomas' cold plate for himself. Bates smiled to himself as he observed Thomas' renewed appetite.

No sooner had they finished, than Andy knocked at the door. Bates told Andy they no longer needed hot water, but Thomas interrupted. "Have him bring it here. You promised me the full John Bates treatment, and I expect you to deliver."


	4. It Takes Money to Buy Whiskey

**CHAPTER 4: It TAKES MONEY TO BUY WHISKEY**

 **A few moments later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

"Today, you get the works," declared Bates, removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. "I have to live up to my advertisement." He dropped two towels into the basin of steaming water that Andy had provided and covered the basin with the breakfast tray.

Bates pulled a cloth from his coat pocket. In it was wrapped a small, unlabelled bottle that he set on the table. He gathered Thomas' shaving paraphernalia and inserted a fresh blade in the safety razor. "No talc brush?" Thomas shook his head.

"You need a headrest." Bates wrapped a pillow in a towel and anchored it between Thomas' shoulders and the chair. He placed his hand on Thomas' forehead and pressed his head to the pillow. Then he draped a towel around Thomas' neck and tossed another towel over his own shoulder.

Bates removed the tray from the basin and retrieved one of the towels with a spoon handle, holding it over the basin until it was cool enough to handle. He wrung out the towel and applied it to Thomas' face. Then he placed his hands over the towel and pressed it against Thomas' skin. He could see the tension easing out of Thomas' body.

After Bates removed the towel, Thomas expected to be lathered. Instead, Bates opened the unlabelled bottle he had taken from his coat and poured a few drops of its contents into his hands. He rubbed his hands together as he positioned himself behind the chair and then applied the substance to Thomas' face. He massaged it in, first with circular motions and then with strokes pulling up from Thomas' chin.

"What was that?" Thomas murmured, his eyes closed.

"A wee bit of olive oil." Bates prepared and applied the second towel. Then he lathered up the soap with Thomas' shaving brush while he sang:

"A sweet Tuxedo girl you see  
A queen of swell society  
Fond of fun as fond can be  
When it's on the strict Q.T.  
I'm not too young, I'm not too old  
Not too timid, not too bold  
Just the kind you'd like to hold  
Just the kind for sport I'm told."

Thomas smiled under the towel.

Bates removed the towel and swirled the soap into Thomas' stubble with the brush while he continued with the chorus:

"Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é! Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é!  
Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é! Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é!  
Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é! Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é!  
Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é! Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-é!"

Bates shaved Thomas with short expert strokes. "Mrs Crawley's going to wonder how we managed to use up all her towels in one day. She won't be able to bathe you." Thomas opened his eyes, saw that Bates was teasing, and closed them again.

Bates moistened Thomas' facecloth with cool water from the pitcher, wiped away the last bits of lather, and pressed the cloth against Thomas' skin. He patted Thomas' face dry with the towel on his shoulder and shook a bit of talc into his hands. "You should use a brush for talc. You'll get a better result," he advised as he applied the talc. He lightly brushed off the excess with the towel and drew the back of his hand along Thomas' cheek. "Still, not bad."

Thomas was not ready to open his eyes. "You're right, John. I did enjoy that." Bates was surprised by the compliment.

Bates turned his attention to Thomas' bandages. He was careful to change them exactly as prescribed by Mrs Crawley.

"Well done, Bates," Thomas parroted.

"Mr Barrow, do you find this amusing?" scolded Bates. They both chuckled. "We shouldn't joke. Mrs Crawley is a fine woman."

"I know," Thomas agreed, "but her hands are cold." Bates burst out laughing, which pleased Thomas.

Bates helped Thomas back to bed and tidied the room, which was in quite a state. When things were in order, Bates sat in the chair and offered to read the day's paper to Thomas.

"No, John. I want to tell you about my dream ... about my mother's visit."

"Very well."

Thomas described his dream, and Bates listened attentively. The only detail Thomas withheld was his nickname, Tadpole. When he spoke of having sex with men, Bates did not flinch or squirm, and Thomas was grateful. When he repeated his mother's reaction, " _that's lovely_ ," Bates smiled. When Thomas described waking up and screaming at Carson about his lost arms, Bates could not help but laugh, and that made Thomas laugh too.

"That's everything I can remember. What do you think?" asked Thomas.

"I think I would have liked your mother," replied Bates.

"I think so too. I still miss her. John ... you're going to think I'm daft, but ... do you think it was only a dream, or do you think she really visited me?"

Bates was not a superstitious man, and he was not a particularly religious man. He appreciated the kind of church rituals that celebrated life events. He had been comforted by his mother's funeral, and he looked forward to his baby's christening. But Heaven? Still, there was something compelling about Thomas' dream. "Honestly, Thomas, I don't know. But I want to believe it was really her."

"Why on earth would I dream that I lost my arms?"

Bates considered Thomas' question. He was a straight-forward man and had no interest in the Freudian mumbo jumbo that was all the rage. "Well ... if you had no arms, you would have had to ask others for help. That's difficult for you, isn't it?"

"Isn't it difficult for you?" asked Thomas.

"Yes," Bates conceded. He smiled. "Anna would say it's because we're men. She would say that when we lived in caves, men were beasts. They beat their chests and fought over women."

"I would have made a terrible caveman," Thomas concluded, and Bates laughed again. "John, do you think she was right ... that I must make amends? Even if I tried, how would I know when I'd done enough?"

"I think you'd know. I think you'd feel ... I don't know ... free somehow."

A polite rap sounded at the door, and Bates answered. It was Baxter who entered with yet another tray of tea and biscuits. "Dr Clarkson says Mr Barrow is to have elevenses every day this week. And I have a message from Mr Carson for you Mr Bates." Baxter smiled, "He requests your assistance with Lord Grantham before Lord Grantham pushes him to the brink of incivility. I'm to stay with Mr Barrow until you return."

Bates slipped on his coat and grabbed his cane. "I'll be back as soon as I'm able. Remember, Mr Barrow, it takes money to buy whiskey." Thomas looked at Baxter and then at Bates and nodded.

After Bates was gone, Baxter asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh, Bates has been lecturing me on the virtue of thrift. He's part Scottish, you know."

"No, I didn't know. He certainly seems to be taking an interest in your welfare." Baxter prepared a cup of tea for Thomas. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes. Would you bring me the small box in the top drawer there." Thomas gestured to his chest of drawers.

Baxter opened the drawer. "The one with the string around it?"

"Yes, that's the one." Thomas took the box from Baxter and gazed at it thoughtfully. "Sit down, won't you, Fizzy?" Baxter sat on the chair, smiling at the memory of her old nickname. "The first time I called you that, Flossie was annoyed at me for being rude to you. The next thing I knew, everyone was calling you Fizzy. You two were Fizzy and Flossie."

"I remember."

"Do you know why I called you that?" Baxter shook her head. "You were about to begin your first job as house maid, and Mum took you and Flossie for phosphates to celebrate. I had to stay in the shop with my father. The next time I saw you, I called you Fizzy Phyllis Phosphate."

Baxter laughed. "I remember now."

"Do you remember the day my mother died?" asked Thomas.

Baxter thought for a moment. "Your father was at the shop, wasn't he? He said you were nowhere to be found. I had gotten Flossie a job as a tweeny where I worked, so she was with me."

"That's right. Mum had been in bed for 3 days with a fever, and she had a dreadful cough. My father insisted she had nothing more than a cold. The morning she died, she said she had a sharp pain in her chest. I begged my father to send for the doctor, but he said a nance like me wanted a doctor for every splinter and sneeze, and he went to the shop."

"You must have been terrified."

Thomas continued, "While she was sick, she wouldn't let me sit with her. But after my father left that morning, she called me to her bed. She was struggling to breathe. She took off her ruby ring and gave it to me. Do you remember the ring?"

"I remember. She let me try it on once. It was her grandmother's ring, then her mother's, and then hers."

"You have a good memory. After my father left for the shop, Mum told me she was going to die, and she wanted me to keep the ring for my sister. I screamed and cried and carried on, but she said, 'None of that.' She couldn't speak after that. I ran for the doctor, but it was too late. The doctor said Mum probably died of pneumonia."

"Oh, Thomas."

Thomas opened the box. Inside was a delicate rose gold ring with a small ruby and two tiny pearls. "Flossie didn't know I had it. I was going to give it to her as a wedding present."

Baxter was stunned when she saw the familiar ring. "How happy that would have made her." Thomas and Baxter were silent, each remembering the moment they heard that Flossie had been run over by a horse and carriage as she was crossing the street to meet her fiancé.

"I've treated you badly, Fizzy, and that's no way for me to honour Mum and Flossie. Flossie thought of you as her sister. Would you come here please." Baxter stood. "I want you to have Mum's ring. Mum and Flossie would have wanted you to have it." He slipped the ring onto Baxter's finger.

Baxter was speechless. She dropped into the chair, gazing at the ring. She looked up at Thomas, eyes glistening. "I don't know what to say, Thomas."

"God knows Molesley will never be able to buy you a ring like that, Fizzy," teased Thomas.


	5. Just a Little Frog

**CHAPTER 5: JUST A LITTLE FROG**

 **11:00 that same night**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

Thomas was having a dream. It was an ordinary dream, not at all like the dream about his mum.

Like most people, Thomas had all sorts of dreams. Most he could not remember, and some he would like to forget. Some were frightening and kept him awake, and some were deliciously sensual and invited him back to sleep.

A month before, Thomas dreamed that he went to the servants' hall for breakfast, and Carson and Andy were sitting at the table, thin and drawn. They both were wearing aprons. Carson jumped up, grabbed Thomas by the arm, and pushed him into the kitchen. "Where have you been? You missed breakfast and luncheon. Now you must bake a cake for tea, and it must be without fault!" Carson gave Thomas a small mixing bowl. Thomas asked for a larger bowl, but Carson snapped, "Don't be ridiculous!"

Thomas could not remember the recipe. He dumped some flour into the bowl ... then some sugar ... some eggs ... an apple. Andy handed him a spoon, but when Thomas went to stir, the bowl was empty. Thomas decided to take the bowl to the village bakery and buy a cake to put in it, but he could not lift the bowl. Andy was crying, "They didn't want an under butler, and now they don't want a cook!"

Thomas ran out of the kitchen. He remembered he was married and ran home to his cottage, but he could not remember which cottage was his or to whom he was married. It was dark when he found his front door. He ran inside, undressed and climbed in bed. His spouse was already asleep. Thomas announced, "I've been sacked!"

His spouse sat straight up. "That's all right, Ducky, I'll take care of you." It was Mrs Patmore, and she was not wearing a nightgown! Thomas woke up and bolted out of bed as though it were filled with snakes. He slept in the chair for the rest of the night and could not look Mrs Patmore in the eye for two days.

But tonight's dream was not like that. In tonight's dream, Thomas and another man were sitting on the edge of his bed. Thomas could see the man's coat draped over the chair. The man had his cheek pressed against Thomas' face, and Thomas enjoyed the feel of his rough, masculine stubble. Thomas could not see the man's face, but he felt the heat of his body and was aroused. The man put his arm around Thomas, and his touch was electric. "Thomas ... Thomas..." Thomas moaned.

"Thomas ... Thomas ... what's wrong?" Thomas opened his eyes and saw Bates' hand on his arm. Thomas popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box. "Thomas, are you in pain?" asked Bates, worry lining his face.

"What? No, I'm fine!"

Bates' face relaxed. "You were groaning. You must have had a bad dream," Bates concluded. "Here, let me take your blanket. It's too hot up here for that."

"NO!" Thomas slammed his arms down on the blanket. He did not want to be exposed at that particular moment.

Bates was mystified. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable with only the sheet?"

"No, John, I'm fine," Thomas insisted.

"Andy will be here soon. Is there anything you need before I leave?"

Thomas glanced around the room. He saw Bates' coat draped over the chair. If he had not realized it before, he certainly knew at that moment ... Bates was the man in his dream.

"Only some water please."

Bates brought Thomas a glass of water. "Dr Clarkson is stopping by tomorrow to speak with you. He thinks you're ready to take care of yourself, but he wants to be certain. Why don't you have a bath in the morning so you can be fresh when he sees you."

"What?"

Bates smiled, "Not a Mrs Crawley sponge bath. I mean take a bath by yourself in the tub ... except, I'm sorry, Thomas, but I'll have to be in the room."

"What?"

Bates laughed, "I don't have to watch! But I do have to be in the room."

"All right." Thomas wanted a bath. The attic was unbearably hot and stuffy in the summer, and he had been confined to his room for two days. He dipped his fingers in the glass of water and ran them across the back of his neck.

"Let me do that." Bates retrieved Thomas' facecloth and moistened it.

Thomas tried to intercept the facecloth, but Bates pushed his hand aside. "I'll do it." Bates cupped Thomas' chin with one hand while he sponged his face. Bates moved his hand to Thomas' shoulder and ran the facecloth around the back of his neck.

"Better?"

 _Not really_ , thought Thomas, but he nodded anyway. Every time Bates touched him, he felt an exquisite rush. He was trying to think of something else. He was trying to think of Mrs Patmore.

Bates ran the facecloth down the inside of each of Thomas' arms to his bandages. Then he picked up Thomas' hand. A small, involuntary moan escaped Thomas throat.

Worry returned to Bates face. "Thomas, are you certain you're all right? I don't want to leave if you're not well."

"I'm fine, John. It's just a little frog in my throat."


	6. Little Brother

**CHAPTER 6: LITTLE BROTHER**

 **The next morning**

 **The Servants' Bathroom on the Men's Side**

Thomas eased himself into the hot bath, leaned back, and closed his eyes. "Do you have everything you need?" asked Bates.

Thomas opened his eyes. "Yes, John."

Bates had been pleased that morning when Thomas displayed steady hands and was able to walk about his room unassisted. But Thomas lacked his normal colour, and Bates remained at-the-ready to catch him should he become lightheaded. He was at Thomas' elbow as they walked to the bathroom and insisted on fixing Thomas' bath. As he did regularly for Lord Grantham, Bates untied Thomas' robe, removed it, and hung it on the hook near the tub. Thomas was relieved when Bates sat on a stool near the door and pulled the day's newspaper from his pocket. He read quietly, allowing Thomas some privacy.

Up until a few days ago, Bates and Thomas had been adversaries. But now … now Thomas was inexplicably drawn to Bates ... his voice ... his dark hair ... his reserved smile ... his brooding nature ... his _maleness_. When Bates had knocked at the door that morning, Thomas' heart pounded with anticipation.

Thomas told himself it was an infatuation that would pass. During the war when he had been transferred to the hospital, he saw many a soldier fall in love with his nurse. Bates was acting as his nurse now, so what he was feeling was normal. Nothing had changed. As soon as he could return to work, his thoughts would be occupied with more important things than Bates. And Bates would be … merely Bates again.

But Thomas' body was being contrary. It had chosen, quite independently from Thomas' will, to become aroused. Now what was he to do? Thomas peeked over the edge of the tub at Bates, but Bates was absorbed in his paper. Still, Bates was in the room, and Thomas had no intention of being humiliated in front of him. As he washed himself, he forced himself to concentrate on other things. The new BBC long wave radio transmitter in Daventry ... the price of a wireless ... perhaps buying a wireless for himself ... listening to the Savoy Orpheans on his own wireless ... _Charleston Baby_ , _Dinah_ , _Blue Evening Blues_ ... dancing ... dancing with Bates ... his arms enveloping Bates. "God help me!"

"What?"

"Oh, I dropped the soap. I've got it now."

 _This won't do._ Thomas tried thinking about breakfast. He was famished, and Mrs Patmore had been generous the last two days, filling his tray with the same food she prepared for the family. He thought about eggs and back bacon and fried tomatoes and fried mushrooms and baked beans and stewed figs. He imagined the taste of each mouthful. He imagined the taste of Bates' mouth. "What is wrong with me?"

"What?"

Thomas began to laugh.

Bates lowered his paper. "What's funny?"

Thomas sighed. "I'm ridiculous."

"We all feel that way at times, little brother." Thomas did not know it yet, but that was the first of many times Bates would address him as little brother.

Little brother. Thomas shook his head. Of all the men with whom a man could be intimate, the one man he would never choose would be his little brother.


	7. The Sheik of Araby

**CHAPTER 7: THE SHEIK OF ARABY**

 **That Friday**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

Thomas was dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed when Bates arrived. Today, would be his first day back to work.

Bates had arrived early so that he could accompany Thomas to breakfast. He saw that Thomas was anxious and sat next to him. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be glad to go back to work."

"I am, but it's going to be an awkward breakfast this morning."

"Yes, I'm certain of it," Bates agreed, "but by this time tomorrow, it all will feel normal again." Bates had another subject on his mind. "Thomas...," he began.

"Yes?"

Bates hesitated, then began again. "Thomas..."

"I'm listening." It was not like Bates to be at a loss for words.

Bates put his hand on Thomas' shoulder. "Thomas, promise me that you'll never try anything like this again."

"All right."

Bates took hold of Thomas' chin and turned him forcefully so they were face-to-face. "Tell me again," he demanded.

Thomas was surprised by Bates' intensity. "I promise," he replied earnestly.

Bates clapped Thomas on the back. "Well then, little brother, let's see how awkward a breakfast can be." Bates turned to pick up his cane and quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

* * *

 **Early Monday morning**

 **The Bates Cottage**

"Do you remember how close that man came to destroying our lives?" Anna demanded. "Now you want to invite him into our home?"

Bates took hold of Anna's arm and pulled her onto his lap. "He was so ashamed of his past behaviour and so alone that he tried to end his life. Think of that, Anna. Won't you give him a chance?" He kissed her. "Won't you?" He nuzzled her neck. "Won't you?"

"You're a devil!" Anna declared, laughing. "All right, if it means that much to you." Anna glanced at the clock. "Now you've done it. We're late!"

* * *

 **That evening**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Anna was free in the evenings while Lady Mary was on her honeymoon with Henry Talbot. Bates would be home soon with Thomas, so she was tidying. She could not imagine how they would make conversation. Still she wanted to be a good hostess in spite of her misgivings.

Earlier that afternoon, Thomas had expressed his appreciation to her and Baxter and Andy for rescuing him. Anna had to admit that he seemed different. Simpler somehow ... more direct ... even humble perhaps. But Anna did not trust him and could not imagine that she ever would.

When Bates and Thomas arrived, Anna realized that Thomas was not used to being a guest. He thanked her awkwardly for inviting him and handed her a bakery box. "It's a Battenberg cake." Anna was pleased. She had been craving sweets.

When Anna made preparations for supper, Thomas offered his help, but Bates insisted that he remain seated. "You're a guest in this house, Thomas. Nothing is expected of you."

Supper was a thick butter bean soup and toasted bread. Thomas watched Anna eat. "So you don't have the sickness?"

"What sickness is that?"

Thomas was confused. He had barely celebrated his first birthday when his mother gave birth to his sister. He had seen little of Lady Mary and Lady Sybil when they were pregnant, and he certainly had not been privy to conversations with them about their pregnancies. The entire subject was a mystery to him. "I thought that all pr ... expectant women ... suffered from..." He blushed.

"He means morning sickness," Bates explained.

Anna laughed pleasantly. "Oh no. I'm beyond all that. Now I'm waiting to feel the baby kick."

"Yes," Bates agreed, "that will make it all very real."

"You're teasing. You mean you'll be able to feel the baby kick while it's ... before it's born?"

Anna smiled, "Of course, silly, it's a baby. It moves around just like any baby."

Thomas leaned back in his chair and took in the cosy domestic scene before him. "I envy you two." Thomas looked at Anna's belly. "When is young Bates going to make an appearance?"

"Early January," Anna replied.

"Oh." Thomas was disappointed. "I'll be working somewhere else by then. Will you write me and tell me all about it?"

Anna could see that his interest was genuine. "Of course."

"I was 10 when I knew I would never marry, but I was 14 before it occurred to me that I would never have my own children." Thomas smiled sheepishly. "I must have been a dim lad."

Anna glanced at Bates who was staring down at his plate. She changed the subject. "I'm ready for some of that cake. How about you?"

While they were enjoying their cake, Anna asked Thomas if he had seen _Decameron Nights_.

"No, I prefer American films. I saw _The Sheik_ last year _._ Did you see it?" Thomas asked eagerly.

"No," replied Anna, "but all the maids at the Abbey are mad for Valentino."

"So am I." Thomas put down his fork and flashed a mischievous grin. "Here I'll show you." He stepped to the centre of the room. " _The Sheik_ ," Thomas announced and bowed. He proceeded to narrate his own version of the film. First he was Lady Diana disguised as a dancing girl. He put his hand on his hip and tapped an imaginary Sheik Ahmed on the shoulder. "Oh Sheiky, would you like to dance," he asked in a high-pitched voice.

Now he was Sheik Ahmed, flashing his eyes and leering at his first sight of Lady Diana. He swept about in his imaginary robes as he sang:

I'm the Sheik of Araby,  
Your love belongs to me.  
At night when you're asleep,  
Into your tent I'll creep.  
The stars that shine above,  
Will light our way to love.  
You'll roam this land with me,  
I'm the Sheik of Araby.

Now Thomas was Lady Diana again, fleeing the Sheik on horseback. He shot an imaginary gun at the Sheik and then fumbled it. "Oh Sheiky, SHEIKY. I dropped my gun. Would you get it please?" Thomas began to swoon about. Then he was the Sheik, trying to lift Lady Diana onto his horse but finding her too heavy. Finally, he threw her over his shoulder and staggered off complaining of sand in his boots.

Anna was beside herself with laughter. Bates was enjoying Anna's merriment as much as Thomas' impromptu performance.

Now Thomas was the Sheik in his tent. "Where is my French valet?" He clapped twice. "Bates!" Thomas grabbed Bates' cane, stood erect, and spoke with a thick French accent. "I beg your pardon, sir, but it's pronounced BatAY." Thomas let loose a stream of unintelligible guttural French. Then he tucked the cane under his arm and began to Charleston.

Speaking imaginary French while dancing proved too much for Thomas, and he was overcome by a fit of laughter. The reenactment came to an abrupt end as he claimed, "I wouldn't want to spoil the ending!" Bates and Anna rewarded Thomas' efforts with rousing applause, and Thomas took a deep bow.

Thomas finished his cake with renewed appetite. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, he bade goodnight to Bates and Anna. Anna gave Thomas a slice of cake to take back to the house, and Bates walked him to the door. As Anna cleared the table, she observed Bates and Thomas having what appeared to be a serious conversation. Bates nodded, and Thomas left.

"What was that about?" asked Anna.

Bates stood behind Anna, reached over her shoulders and rested his hands on her petite belly. "Thomas was offering me some advice."

"And what was that?"

"He was concerned ... how did he put it ... about such a delicate women as yourself having a baby. He advised me to take a few minutes every night to rub your feet."

Anna was touched. "Did you tell him that you do that already?"

Bates turned Anna around and held her close. "Of course not. Why spoil it for him?"

Outside, it was an agreeable, moonlit summer night. As Thomas strolled back to the house, he relived the evening. He was jealous of Anna; Bates loved her completely. But he was fascinated by the new life growing inside her, and he was beginning to _like_ her, much to his surprise. Thomas knew that the next time he visited the Bates cottage, he would have to confess to Bates and Anna the wrongs he had committed against them and ask for the opportunity to make amends. He gazed at the moon. "Thank you for tonight, Mum. Please don't let me ruin it."


	8. More Than a Wee Bit

**CHAPTER 8: MORE THAN A WEE BIT**

 **The next day**

 **The Abbey**

"My mother always said I was an incorrigible show off," confessed Thomas when Anna thanked him for the previous night's entertainment.

"That may be, but you're good at it. Mr Bates and I were hoping you would join us for Sunday dinner."

"You're kind to invite me, Anna, but you must know that I have no way to reciprocate."

Anna laughed. "That's a relief, because Mr Bates and I have no way to sing and dance for you! But please don't think we're inviting you to entertain us," she added quickly.

Thomas looked down at the floor. "Why are you inviting me?" he asked quietly.

Anna was not prepared for that question. She thought for a moment. "It is odd, isn't it? We've never been friends," she answered honestly. "But Mr Bates and I would like to know you better before you leave Downton."

Thomas looked up. "It was rude of me to ask. I would be pleased to come to dinner on Sunday. May I bring anything?"

"Yourself is plenty."

"Anna ... I hope I didn't embarrass you when I asked about..."

"... my condition?" Anna smiled at Thomas' uncharacteristic shyness on the subject. She had always thought of Thomas as a man of hard edges, but at this moment, he radiated a guileless charm that she found adorable. "You may ask me anything you like about it. I'll do my best to answer."

Thomas had keen powers of observation which had proven to be invaluable when manipulating others. Now, he began putting his talent to better use. Whenever he encountered Anna during the course of a day, he observed and delivered exactly what she was needing ... a box from the top shelf ... a compliment on her change of hair style ... a barley sugar to tide her over until dinner ... admiration for her expert mending of Lady Mary's favourite hat.

"He's enchanted by your pregnancy," Bates told Anna. "He has a soft spot for children. It's the one chink in his armour."

* * *

 **Sunday**

 **The Bates Cottage**

A servant's life left little time for socializing. Sunday dinner at the Bates cottage was possible today because Lady Mary was still on her honeymoon, and Lord and Lady Grantham were attending a christening in Ripon.

Bates and Thomas walked to the cottage together. Bates was looking forward to a midday respite, but Thomas was anxious. Today was the day he would discuss making amends with Bates and Anna as his mother had instructed. He knew that confessing his misdeeds could very well end their friendship.

When they arrived, Anna abandoned her pots only long enough to greet them. Thomas presented her with a sack of Mackintosh's Toffee. "John said it's your favourite."

"She'd eat the whole sack right now if you weren't here and insist she were eating for two," Bates teased.

"Mr Bates, I suggest you behave yourself if you expect to be fed today," Anna scolded as she returned to her preparations.

Thomas was careful not to eat too much. He knew the leftovers would be Monday's supper. He asked Anna how she became such a good cook. It seemed that so many maids did not know the first thing about cooking.

Anna was flattered. "Mostly from my mother. And from my first job. I was a tweeny, so I worked a bit in the kitchen."

Thomas laughed. "My little sister was a tweeny at her first job, but she was a terrible cook!"

"Is that the girl in the photo in your room," asked Bates.

"Yes, her name was Florence, but we called her Flossie. She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

Bates laughed.

Thomas took offence. "You don't think so?"

"Oh, she was beautiful all right." Bates winked at Anna. "She's the spitting image of you, little brother!"

Thomas blushed. He knew he was a handsome man and would be the first to say it, but hearing Bates say it was another matter. It made his heart pound.

Thomas continued, "My mother tried to teach Flossie to cook, but she wasn't interested in domestic duties. She would follow me around, and the boys would tease me about my little shadow. I didn't care. I was proud of her. I taught her to play cricket. She was good at it, too. Good enough that the boys let her play with us." Thomas glowed with the memory.

They were done eating, and Thomas would have to report back to Carson soon. He could stall no longer. "I need to discuss something with you ... both of you."

Anna looked at Bates, and Bates nodded.

"Is this about your dream? The dream about your mother?" Anna asked.

"Yes." Thomas did not know that Bates had told her about it.

"May I speak first?"

"Of course, Anna." Thomas was confused. This was not how he had practiced it.

"First, John and I have one question. Is there anything you have done that could still cause us harm?"

Thomas thought carefully before answering. "No. I can't think of anything."

Anna smiled. "That's a relief. In that case, John and I have decided that we don't want to hear what you have to say."

"But Anna, I must make amends."

Bates smiled. "You'll make amends, little brother. We'll see to that."

Anna explained, "Thomas, we've learned to recognise your hand in things over the years. We could make a good guess as to what you have to tell us. But to give us details now ... we're afraid it would colour our opinion of you to no good purpose."

Thomas could not believe what he was hearing. They were letting him off the hook. They truly wanted to be his friends.

"How am I to make amends?" Thomas was willing to do almost anything.

"Thomas," Bates replied, "you'll have to be patient. We don't know yet." He patted Thomas' shoulder sympathetically. "Patience isn't really your strong suit, is it, little brother?"

* * *

 **A few days later**

 **The Abbey**

Thomas looked forward to spending the rest of the day alone with Bates. A couple of days earlier, Bates had purchased a second-hand cradle and asked Thomas to hide it from Anna in his room. The next day, he asked Thomas to hide sandpaper and shellac. Today, Anna would be occupied with last-minute errands before the return tomorrow of Lady Mary. She did not expect to be back at the cottage until late that night.

Today was Bates' half-day. He asked Carson if Thomas could take his half-day too. Carson did not see much point in arguing over the services of a suicidal under butler who would be employed elsewhere soon enough.

When Thomas completed his morning duties, he changed his clothes and slipped out with the cradle and supplies. In the cradle, he carried sandwiches that he had wangled from Mrs Patmore. By the time he arrived at the cottage, Bates had changed, and the two set straight to work refinishing the cradle. They hoped to complete three coats before Anna returned.

It was a hot day, and the two worked outside in their vests. First they sanded. When Bates was satisfied that the cradle was free of sawdust, he opened the can of shellac. Before he could dip a brush, Thomas stopped him. "You'll contaminate it."

Thomas' father had hired out the woodwork for most of his clocks, but he tackled some of the less intricate cases himself with young Thomas as his assistant. Thomas understood the process. He explained to Bates that they must pour a small amount of shellac into another container. Bates appropriated one of Anna's baking pans. Thomas poured only the required amount into the pan and showed Bates how to apply it in the direction of the grain. Bates admired Thomas' skill. Then the two men went inside to eat and escape the fumes.

Thomas was learning to push aside his attraction to Bates. He was beginning to appreciate the Bates that everyone else knew and respected. The steady, kind, contemplative Bates. Still, it annoyed Thomas at times that Bates had so much power over him, that the sound of his voice could still make his heart race. Thomas watched Bates set out their lunch. Bates had the start of a middle-age paunch, but he wore it with a confidence that Thomas found irresistible. Thomas had always kept himself fit and trim, not so much out of vanity but because he thought he did not have much to offer people other than his good looks.

Bates sat, selected a sandwich, and stretched out his long legs as was his habit at home. "Thomas, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Thomas smiled. "As long as I may withhold my answer."

Bates did not know quite how to ask. "I'm not trying to insult you, Thomas. This fellow, Valentino ... is he the sort of man you fancy?"

Thomas almost spat out his mouthful of sandwich. "Why would you ask me that?"

Bates shrugged.

"So you're asking me what is my ideal man?" Bates nodded. Thomas could see that Bates was not being unkind, only curious. "Let me ask you, John. Before you met Anna, would you have described your ideal woman as a tiny blonde maid who barely came to your shoulders? Do you think she would have described her ideal man as older, married, and lame?"

"You're right. I can't imagine what Anna saw in me."

"John, I didn't mean it like that, honestly. I only meant, what's the use of trying to decide what we want. Our hearts won't pay any attention."

"I know what you meant." Bates took a long drink of water. "Your heart doesn't play fair with you, does it?"

Thomas smiled, "No, it doesn't. I've given it quite a talking to, but it won't listen."

"I don't like to think of you being alone, little brother."

"Then don't think of it," Thomas answered simply.

The two finished lunch in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. After they cleared the table, Bates headed for the door. "Let's see if the first coat is ready to sand."

"No, John, we sand after the second coat."

Bates applied the second coat under Thomas' tutelage. Then he and Thomas returned indoors, ate what remained of their sandwiches, and napped in their chairs. When Thomas awoke, he turned to see Bates sleeping soundly, his head resting on the table, only a couple of feet away. He gazed at Bates, admiring the grey that was beginning to show at his temples and the appealing shape of his mouth. How easily Thomas could have reached out and touched him. He wisely resisted the urge. Instead, he stepped outside and examined their handiwork. He sanded the imperfections and applied the third coat.

When Bates awoke and inspected the finished cradle, he knew Anna would be pleased. He suggested they head to the Grantham Arms for a pint while the last coat dried. "I haven't been to a pub with a mate since my soldier days."

* * *

 **That evening**

 **Grantham Arms**

"A pint," Bates told the proprietor, "and a pint for my little brother," he added clapping his arm around Thomas' shoulders.

The proprietor observed Bates and Thomas as he served them. "I didn't know you two were brothers. Don't know how I missed it. You look so much alike."

Bates and Thomas laughed amiably. Bates drained his mug and asked for another. For every two or three mugs Bates downed, he offered a refill to Thomas. Thomas could not bring himself to refuse. Not when Bates had called him mate.

Thomas could not recall ever seeing Bates with a beer before that evening. Thomas, himself, had never been one to drink to excess. He preferred to remain in control of his senses. He tried to line his stomach by filling it with the pickled eggs on the counter, but the mix of eggs and alcohol did not sit well. He could not imagine what possessed Bates to overindulge, and he resented this unpleasant ending to his perfect day.

* * *

 **That night**

 **Near the Bates Cottage**

As they approached the cottage, Thomas fell against a large tree and held on. "I drank too much. I can't walk properly."

Bates observed Thomas and hypothesised, "I can't walk properly when I'm sober; therefore, I should be able to walk properly when I've been drinking." This theory made so much sense to Bates that he demonstrated it by tossing his cane onto the grass and strutting down the pathway. He took two steps before his bad leg gave way, and he fell flat on his back.

Bates lay on the path staring at the moon and began to sing. "My sweetheart's the man in the moon. I'm going to marry him soon." He sang as he rolled over onto his belly. "'Twould fill me with bliss just to give him one kiss, but I know that a dozen I never would miss." He sang as he struggled onto his feet, "I'll go up in a great big balloon, and see my sweetheart in the moon. Then behind some dark cloud, where no one is allowed..." He finished the song on his feet with his arms outstretched. "I'll make love to the man in the moon." He glanced about for his cane. "Little brother, where's my stick?"

Thomas released the tree and dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled to Bates' cane. "Here it is."

Bates held out his arm. "Would you be so kind?"

Thomas sat on the grass and held up the cane. After several attempts, he was able to hook it over Bates' extended arm.

Bates strolled to the cottage and unlocked the door. Thomas crawled after him. When he spotted the cradle, he forced himself to his feet and managed to carry Anna's gift into the cottage. Once inside, he lay the cradle and himself on the hard floor. "What time is it?"

Bates looked at the clock with unfocused eyes. "I have no idea."

Thomas rolled onto his back. "Can't you tell time?" he demanded impatiently.

Bates put his ear to the clock and listened. "How can I tell you the time when the clock won't tell me?" Bates thought he had made a profound observation. He retrieved writing paper and pencil and sat at the table to record it, but he could not remember what he had said that was so clever, and the pencil lead broke. "Drat!"

Thomas groaned and sat up. "I need water."

Bates brought Thomas the pitcher, sloshing water onto the floor. "It'll dry when the sun comes up," he assured Thomas.

Thomas accepted the pitcher and stared at it, not sure how to proceed. He lifted the vessel and poured water from the spout to his mouth. He gulped, coughed, and sputtered, gulped, coughed, and sputtered.

Bates sat in his usual chair, stretched out his legs, and contemplated his kingdom. "Thomas, there is nothing better for a man than a home, a job, and a pregnant wife," he proclaimed.

"No?"

Bates took pity on Thomas. "What a shame. If you were a real man, you could have all these things too."

Even in his inebriated state, Thomas was stung. He pushed himself to his feet and stood, swaying, in front of Bates. "I _am_ a real man."

Bates smiled benevolently. "Of course you are, little brother. No one ever said you weren't."

" _You_ said it." Thomas felt a familiar venom rising in his throat. "So, you have a pretty little wife who loves you. You haven't stopped talking about her all evening. Do you really think she loves taking care of an aging _cripple_?

Bates was confused. A moment ago he and Thomas were chums.

"So Anna's going to have a baby, and you haven't stopped talking about that either. What makes you think it's _your_ baby?" Thomas hissed.

Bates stood, steadied himself, brought back his arm, and with all his weight, slapped Thomas' across the face knocking him to the floor.

Thomas lay on the floor stunned. He took hold of a chair to help himself to his feet. He stumbled to the corner where Bates' cane was propped against the wall. He grabbed the cane, turned and lurched toward Bates. He swung the cane handle down on the little cradle they had so lovingly refinished that afternoon. He swung the cane again and again, screaming, "NO!" with each thwack until the cane snapped in two.

Bates had never seen Thomas behave violently. Thomas' weapon of choice had always been his brain. Bates was trying to absorb what had happened when he felt Thomas' hands around his throat.

Bates and Thomas were the same height. Bates was heavier and more powerful, but Thomas was younger, had two good legs, and had consumed considerably less alcohol. Thomas pulled Bates off balance and pinned him to the floor. Bates saw the savage look in Thomas' eyes and felt Thomas' hands tighten around his throat. "Thomas! No!" He tried to throw Thomas off, but Thomas was seated on his chest, and he could not find any leverage. "Thomas! Stop!" he pleaded. Thomas' hands tightened, and Bates clawed at them. He tried to speak but had no air. His arms and legs flailed. Finally, his body went limp.

When Thomas realised that Bates had stopped struggling, he released his hold. He slid off Bates' chest and sat heavily on the floor. He turned to Bates. "You bastard!" Bates did not move, and Thomas was seized with the horror of what he had done. "John! No!" he cried as he grabbed hold of Bates' shirt and tried to shake him awake. "John, please! I'm sorry!" Thomas pressed his fingers to Bates' wrist and felt a pulse. "John, please, please wake up!" he begged as he slapped Bates' cheeks.

Bates moaned. His hand went to his throat as he winced.

"Thank god!" Thomas cried.

Bates opened his eyes to see Thomas' face. He gasped and pushed himself away from Thomas. "Get out! Get out of my house!"

At that moment, Anna opened the door and saw the two bedraggled men on her floor. "Oh my god! What happened here?"

Thomas looked down. "Anna, I..."

Bates interrupted. "My cane snapped, and I took a tumble."

Anna looked at the broken cane and saw the cradle, which had survived Thomas' beating. She could smell the fresh shellac. She thought the cradle was lovely but perhaps that moment was not the best time to express her admiration. She looked at Thomas. "And what happened to you?"

Thomas looked at Bates who said, "Thomas tried to help me up, but I pulled him down instead."

Anna looked from Thomas to Bates and back again to Thomas. "Well, shall we have a go at it together?"

Thomas stood with difficulty and kept his eyes to the ground. He and Anna helped Bates to his feet. "Mr Bates, have you been drinking?"

Bates answered quietly, "I may have had a wee bit."

"It appears that you have had considerably more than a wee bit, Mr Bates."

Thomas muttered that he had better leave. He stumbled out and closed the door behind him. He sat and leaned against the cottage wall. He pulled his legs in tight and wrapped his arms around them. He gazed up at the moon, and then he dropped his head to his knees and started to cry. "I ruined it, Mum. I ruined it."


	9. Barley Sugar

**CHAPTER 9: BARLEY SUGAR**

 **5:30 the next morning**

 **Outside the Bates Cottage**

Thomas awoke sputtering. His face was wet, and he did not know why. He opened his eyes, but a glaring light forced them shut again. "I'm blind."

"You're not blind. Open your eyes."

Thomas recognized Anna's voice. What was she doing in his room? He squinted and saw Anna towering over him. He was not in his room. He was outside, and the sun was up.

"Stand up." Anna's voice reverberated inside Thomas' skull. She was holding a pitcher and splashing him with water.

Anna was determined; she would not allow herself to feel sympathy for Thomas' hungover condition no matter how pathetic. He had gotten her husband drunk. Who knew what a Pandora's Box he may have opened.

"Hold onto the wall if you must and stand up!"

Why was Anna so angry? Thomas turned on all fours until he saw the wall. He struggled to plant his feet on the ground and stand, leaning against the wall for support. Now he knew where he was; he was outside the cottage. He had never returned to the house last night. What was Mr Carson going to say?

"Are you able to walk?" asked Anna.

"No," replied Thomas.

"Pull yourself together, Thomas!"

Thomas rested his head against the wall. He was dizzy and bilious. He hoped he would not heave in front of Anna.

"Are you listening, Thomas?"

"Yes."

"This is what you must do. You must go to the house and tell Mr Carson that John and I cannot work today. Tell him that John's cane split, and he took a bad fall. John is too heavy for me, so you stayed to be of assistance. Tell him that we are sorry for the inconvenience and will return to work tomorrow. Mr Carson will accept that explanation. Don't offer him anything else. Do you understand?"

Thomas was beginning to remember the events of the previous night. He remembered that Bates and Anna were no longer his friends. His body became heavy as it filled with sorrow. "I understand," he mumbled.

"Then go." Anna turned on her heel, stepped inside and shut the door.

* * *

 **The Abbey**

"Mr Barrow, what is the meaning of this?" Carson thundered when Thomas tried to slip inside the servants' entrance unnoticed.

Thomas delivered Anna's message exactly as she had instructed. She was right; Carson did not question him.

Thomas wanted nothing more than to vomit and collapse on his bed, but he willed himself to focus. "Mr Carson, do you know where I may obtain a cane ... today, if possible?"

Mr Carson was gratified to see Thomas display a measure of compassion. "I suppose Mr Bates won't be of much use without his cane. I'll telephone Dr Clarkson after breakfast and see what he can recommend. In the meantime, Mr Barrow, I suggest that you make yourself presentable. This is not a holiday house."

* * *

 **The Bates Cottage**

Thomas knocked lightly on the cottage door. At Dr Clarkson's recommendation, he had purchased a cane from the village chemist. Now he prayed that no one would answer his knock so he could leave the cane at the door and run. His prayer was not answered; Anna opened the door.

Thomas held out the cane, and Anna accepted it, icily. "Well, that's one problem solved. Come inside, Thomas."

"I'm sorry, but Mr Carson is expecting me."

"Come inside!" Anna commanded. Her voice was as hard as steel. Thomas did not know this Anna. She seemed taller than he remembered. Her usually pleasing face was fixed in an uncharitable grimace. Thomas did not have the wherewithal to oppose her. His body was still punishing him for the previous night's indiscretion. He felt as though he had swallowed an alley cat whole, and it was trying to claw its way out. He surrendered and followed Anna inside.

"Sit down, Thomas. You and I are going to have a talk."

Thomas sat obediently. "Where's John?"

"This is between you and me. John won't disturb us." Anna remained standing. "Thomas, I want you to speak to me frankly."

"I will," Thomas replied hoarsely, staring at his shoes.

"Whose idea was it to drink last night?"

"It was John's idea, but I agreed," Thomas answered.

"Thomas, are you aware that John has a drinking problem."

Thomas looked up with surprise. "He does?"

"Are you telling me that you had no idea?"

"Oh, Anna, I never would have agreed to go with him if I had known that he was a ... a ..."

"A drunk?"

Thomas flinched at the word and nodded.

Anna's resolve dissipated. Poor Thomas. He was sweating and trembling. He sat before her a stray, beaten puppy. Anna brought him a glass of water which he accepted gratefully. She sat across from Thomas and leaned forward. "Thomas, what really happened here last night? I could see that it was more than a broken cane."

"John didn't tell you?"

"No. After you left he went straight to bed without so much as a goodnight. He's still asleep."

Thomas felt a new wave of remorse. "Anna, have you been up all night? That can't be good for you right now. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you or the baby."

Anna was touched that Thomas would think of her in his current miserable state. "There's no need to worry, Thomas. I'm fine," Anna assured him. "Please tell me what happened."

Thomas gestured to the cradle. "John found a cradle for the baby, and we refinished it. When we were done, he wanted to go to the Grantham Arms to have a pint. I was ... flattered, I suppose, that he wanted me for company. But he had more than a pint. We both did, but I couldn't begin to keep up with him. Oh, Anna ... I'm so sorry."

"I know you are. What happened then?"

"We were fuddled. I don't know how we found our way back here, but we managed. Then John said something that set me off."

"What did he say?"

Thomas hesitated.

"He's my husband, Thomas. I must know."

"He said that I wasn't a real man."

Anna was taken aback. "Thomas, you must have misunderstood! Why would he say such a thing?"

" _Why_? Isn't that what everyone thinks about me?"

Anna frowned. "It's not what _I_ think, and I won't have you believe that it is."

"Thank you for that."

"It's not what John thinks either."

Thomas shook his head. "A drunk man says what's on his mind."

"I shouldn't speak for John. You should ask him yourself. Please continue, Thomas."

Thomas stood. "I'm sorry, Anna, I can't tell you the rest." He started for the door, but Anna caught Thomas' hand and pulled him toward her chair.

"Thomas, I need to hear it from you before John wakes up."

Thomas resisted. "Anna, I can't. I said something about you ... something vulgar."

"Oh?"

"Please, Anna," he begged, "don't ask me what I said. I didn't mean it. I said it because I was angry. John hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him."

"It's all right, Thomas, I won't ask you. Not if you didn't mean it." Thomas sank back onto the chair.

"So, you said something unkind about me, and then what?"

"And then John gave me a smack. He knocked me right off my feet."

Anna was shocked. Her husband had never been violent when he drank, or so his mother had said.

"Anna, he was tanked up, and I had said something awful. He was defending you. I don't blame him; you shouldn't blame him either."

"You were _both_ on the floor when I came home," Anna reminded Thomas.

"When John hit me, something inside me ... I don't know ... came loose. My father used to hit me like that. When I looked at John, I saw every man who had ever made me feel as though I were something disgusting ... as though I should be tossed in the river like so much trash for having the cheek to take a breath." Thomas paused. "Anna, please. I did something monstrous. I don't want to tell you."

"Thomas, you can't change what happened now. Why were you both on the floor when I opened the door?"

Thomas felt his heart pounding. He forced out the words quickly as though she would not grasp the meaning that way. "I knocked John to the ground and choked him until he passed out."

"Oh, my god!"

"When he came round, he screamed for me to get out of the house. That's when you opened the door."

Thomas looked up at Anna and awaited her wrath. She brought Thomas another glass of water while she sorted out his story. At last, she spoke. "So, John took you out for a spree and because of that, you lost control of your senses. In all the years I've known you, Thomas, I've never known you to be a brawler. I can't see that you're responsible for any of last night."

Thomas was at a loss for words.

Anna was not finished. Her voice tightened. "But I promise you this, Thomas. If you ever go drinking with my husband again, we will no longer be friends, and you will not be welcome in this house. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed." Thomas swallowed hard. "Anna, why are you being so generous to me? You know it's not what I deserve."

"I suppose I can decide for myself what my friends deserve from me."

"Are we friends then?"

"Of course we are." Anna smiled. "Who else is always at the ready with a barley sugar?"

Thomas reached into his coat pocket. He had always carried barley sugars for the children. Now he carried them for Anna too. He pulled out two, one for Anna and one for himself.

Anna accepted the candy and laughed. "I'm going to be a fat lady in a few months with or without barley sugar, so I may as well enjoy it!"


	10. Young Again

**CHAPTER 10: YOUNG AGAIN**

 **Later that day**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Bates awoke in pain. His bad leg was throbbing. He stood, and his leg refused to support him. Where was his cane ... and where was Anna? The sun was up, and Anna had not wakened him. He tried calling for her, but there was not one drop of saliva in his mouth. He put a hand on the wall for support and slowly worked his way around the room. By the time he reached the door, he was able to manage a clumsy shuffle without the support of the wall.

He opened the door to the sight of Anna dusting. Why was she not dressed for work? "Anna?" He croaked.

Anna turned to Bates. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and his hair was damp and matted. She had never seen him so dishevelled, not even when she visited him in prison.

Bates looked at the clock but his eyes were not focusing properly. He shuffled closer. It was already 6:30, and he had not even shaved. He began to speak but was overcome by coughing.

Anna brought him a glass of water. "Aren't you a sight." Her voice was flat.

Bates looked down at himself and realised that he had slept in his clothes. He struggled to remember why. No matter. "Why didn't you wake me? We'll be late."

"Late for what?"

What was wrong with her? "For the Abbey."

"It's 6:30 in the evening, John. You've slept all day."

"What?" Bates was bewildered. How could Anna risk their livelihood as though it were nothing?

"Thomas made our excuses to Mr Carson."

"Excuses?"

"You remember, for the fall you took when your cane split."

Bates remembered Thomas banging the cane on the cradle. He remembered the mask of rage on Thomas' face. Bates involuntarily put his hand to his throat. "Thomas is a madman. I don't want him in this house. Stay away from him."

"You seem to be a bit confused. It's not for you to be giving orders right now." Anna's face was impassive.

"Anna, please speak plainly."

Anna did not respond. Instead, she brought Bates the new cane.

"What's this?"

"The madman dropped it off for you this morning. Are you able to eat?"

Bates' usual hearty appetite eluded him. "Toast, perhaps, and some tea."

Anna heated the kettle. Bates took the new cane and hobbled, urgently, to the privy. When he returned, he noticed Anna's suitcase by the door. "Is Lady Mary off again?"

"Not that I'm aware."

Bates felt uneasy. "Anna, forget the tea. Talk to me."

Anna stood in front of Bates, a fortress.

Bates reached out and took Anna's hand. "Why is your bag packed?"

"That's up to you, John."

"Anna, please, no riddles."

Anna steeled herself. "I love you John. I never expect to love another man the way I love you. But I'm going to have our baby, and I won't raise our child in a house of fear. I knew that fear with my stepfather."

Anna was leaving him! Bates felt his knees weaken. His cane fell to the floor. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Anna picked up the cane and handed it back. "You should sit, John."

Bates sat heavily and looked up at Anna beseechingly. "Anna, don't leave me!"

"I don't want to leave you, John, but my suitcase is packed and ready. If you ever take another drink, I'll take my suitcase and go. One drink, John, and I'm gone. Do you understand me?"

Tears stung Bates' eyes. He put his arms around Anna and pulled her close. He rested his cheek against her belly. "Anna, I'm sorry."

"Do you understand me?" demanded Anna.

The tears broke free and slid down Bates' bristled cheeks. "Yes ... I promise, Anna ... I won't do it again!"

Anna spoke firmly but without anger. "I'm sorry, John, but I know only too well that the promise of a drunk means nothing." Bates felt the crush of Anna's brutal honesty. "You'll have to show me. Each day, you'll have to show me. I'm going to leave my suitcase by the door so you don't forget."

Bates clung to Anna and nodded. She smoothed his hair and put her arms around him. "Why did you do it, John?"

"I don't know. I hadn't had a drink for so long. I thought perhaps I could have a pint and stop."

"But why risk it? To what purpose?"

Bates sighed. "I wanted to feel young again ... young and whole ... you know, like Thomas."


	11. Patience

**CHAPTER 11: PATIENCE**

 **Two weeks later**

 **The Boot Room**

Anna shook her head. "I don't know what to tell you, Thomas. I've never known John to be so stubborn. He'll come around, but you're going to have to be patient." Anna was sad to watch the fledgling friendship between Thomas and her husband crumble. She loved her husband, but she wanted to give him a good shaking. She knew better than to push him. All she could do was give him the time he needed to see sense.

"Don't make more of it than it is," replied Thomas. "I've managed for many years without the friendship of Mr John Bates. It's of no consequence to me."

"You're losing your touch, Thomas. I'm not convinced."

Thomas smiled ruefully. "You know me too well, Anna."

Thomas returned Lady Mary's favourite shoes to Anna. "Here you are, good as new." It had become his pleasure to do sundry tasks for Anna. It made him feel included, somehow, in her excitement about the baby. Each day, he looked forward to her arrival so he could try to detect a change in her and her small belly. And each day, he was convinced that her face was lovelier than the day before.

Anna smiled. "You're a marvel. They really do look like new shoes!" Anna could see the effort it took for Thomas to return her smile. "Be patient, Thomas. All things come to those who wait," she quoted.

"Well then, I'm going to be a rich man someday."

* * *

 **Monday morning, the following week**

 **The Servants' Hall**

Thomas did not want to leave Downton, but now that he had a new position as butler for Sir Mark Stiles, it was going to be a relief to escape Bates. Gone was the man who had nursed him and held him and advised him and teased him and called him little brother, and the loss was too much for Thomas. He asked Carson at breakfast if he could leave on Sunday as Lady Stiles had requested, and Carson approved.

Bates spoke to Thomas for the first time since their overindulgence. "Downton Abbey without Mr Barrow ..."

Anna cut him off. "Don't be ungenerous." And that was the end of it. Thomas had no choice but to move forward.

* * *

 **That night**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Bates stepped into the cottage and noted Anna's packed suitcase by the door. Each day he hoped it would be unpacked and put away, but each day it remained as a monument to his weakness.

Tonight, Anna had arrived home before him and made a light supper from their Sunday dinner leftovers. After Bates had eaten, Anna sat in his lap and leaned back against his chest. "Who is this fat woman?" he teased. He began to pull out the pins that held Anna's hair in place so it would spill onto her shoulders. It was a night-time privilege he particularly enjoyed.

"John, I want to talk about Thomas."

Bates sighed. "Must we?"

"Are you forbidding it, Mr Bates?"

Bates chuckled. "I know better than to try to forbid you from doing anything."

"Then will you hear me out?"

"I'm listening." Bates fingered Anna's hair while she spoke.

"I'm worried about him, John. He'll be leaving Downton on Sunday, and I'm concerned about what he might do if he gets too lonely."

Bates' face clouded. He turned Anna to face him. "What do you mean, Anna?"

"You know what I mean. I'm afraid he'll try to take his life."

"He promised me he would never do that again."

Anna eased herself back into position against Bates' chest. "Perhaps he doesn't feel held by that promise. You've made it clear to him that you're no longer friends."

Bates put his arms around Anna and rested his hands on her belly. "Anna, you weren't there that night. You don't know what happened."

"Yes, I do, John. He sat in this very chair and told me everything while you were sleeping it off."

Bates had not known. "Did he tell you that he broke my cane? It's only luck that he chose to attack the cradle with it and not my head."

"No. He didn't tell me. He must have forgotten."

"How convenient! And I suppose it was his convenience to forget to tell you that he tried to kill me."

The angrier Bates became at the memory of it all, the more gently Anna spoke. "You're wrong, John. He did tell me. He was so horrified by what he had done, he could barely speak, but he told me."

"He should have been horrified! Would you have me feel sorry for him now?"

Anna placed her hands over John's. "You got the man drunk, John, what was it, only three weeks after he attempted suicide? He overindulged that night only because he wanted to please you. Now you're angry because of the consequences. Is that fair?"

Anna waited patiently while Bates turned over her words in his mind. At last he asked, "What is it you want me to do?"

"Say goodbye to him before you leave with Lord Grantham tomorrow. Say anything you like, only don't let him leave Downton with no hope. You have no idea how much your friendship means to him."

"If it will make you happy, my darling."

* * *

 **Tuesday morning**

 **In Front of the Abbey**

Thomas checked one last time to make certain everything had been loaded for the family's trip to Brancaster Castle. Baxter bade him goodbye and surprised him with a peck on the cheek, which both embarrassed and pleased him.

Thomas turned from Baxter, and there was Bates. Thomas forced himself to remain calm. "What do you say, Mr Bates?"

"I say, I'd rather we part as friends than enemies." Bates' eyes crinkled in that way Thomas found irresistible. He extended his hand, and Thomas shook it firmly. Then Thomas walked away quickly, or he would not have been able to walk away at all.

Lord and Lady Grantham made their goodbyes too, and Lord Grantham shook Thomas' hand, which surprised Thomas. How kind everyone was now that he was leaving. Perhaps he should make a career of leaving.

Thomas drove himself to distraction for the rest of the day dissecting Bates' goodbye. He wondered if Anna had put him up to it, or if Bates truly wanted to be friends again. He decided not to ask Anna. He wanted to believe what he wanted to believe.

* * *

 **Tuesday afternoon**

 **The Servants' Hall**

Moving forward meant that Thomas must tackle the business of making amends. Thomas made a list of all the people whom he had wronged, or at least the ones he could remember. It was a shamefully long list. Thomas was not certain that his mum intended for him to make amends to all of them. He asked Anna for help when he found her alone in the Servants' Hall attending to her mending. It was a peculiar task, but Anna took it seriously.

"I think you may cross Lord Grantham off the list. Isis was found safe and sound, so no harm was done. O'Brien. Would you even know how to contact her?" Thomas shook his head. "I suspect she paid you back tit for tat while she was here." Thomas smirked. "That doesn't get you off the hook, mind you," she scolded, "but I think it's safe to cross her off."

"What about Daisy? I asked her to lie for me."

"No, Thomas, the whole idea of you making amends to Daisy would make her uncomfortable. But you should apologize to her before you leave."

Thomas nodded. "Gwen? I mean Mrs Harding?"

Anna laughed. "That whole business backfired on you, didn't it? Once you told the family that Gwen used to work here, they were impressed with her."

"Well," Thomas conceded, "her accomplishments were impressive."

"Cross her off."

"What about Stowell?"

Anna's face was blank. "Who?"

"Lord Sinderby's butler. And Lord Sinderby, for that matter."

Anna frowned. "Cross them off! They should be making amends to you!"

Thomas smiled. "You should have been a barrister."

Anna laughed and reviewed the final list. "You will apologize to Daisy and speak to Lady Mary, Mr Branson, and Mr Carson about making amends. Yes?"

Thomas was ready. "Yes."

* * *

 **Wednesday**

 **The Kitchen**

Thomas was forced to speak to Daisy Mason in front of Mrs Patmore or not at all.

"Daisy, now that I'm leaving Downton, I want to set things right between us. I want to apologize for that time I asked you to lie to Mr Carson about Mr Bates and the wine. Do you remember?"

Daisy was busy kneading dough for Chelsea buns. "I can't believe you're worried about something that happened when we were children. You should be worried about more important things. You should be worried about the miners. Will there be a general strike when the subsidy ends? Should we strike in sympathy? That's where your worries should be."

"I wasn't exactly a child then, Daisy. I'm a few years older than you. I knew better."

Mrs Patmore was impatient. "Stop footling about, Daisy. Put the man out of his misery and accept his apology."

Daisy continued to knead. "I accept your apology, Mr Barrow. I don't want anyone to be miserable on my account when we're all going to be miserable on Mr Churchill's account."

* * *

 **Thursday**

 **The Library**

Anna had arranged for Thomas to meet with Lady Mary Talbot.

"You have a friend in Anna. I hope you appreciate it, Barrow."

"Yes, milady. I count myself fortunate indeed," replied Thomas.

Lady Mary regarded Thomas. She felt an odd connection to him. They were both attractive, clever people. They both did not suffer fools. And they both had a tendency to get in their own ways. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Barrow. I recently made amends of my own, and I can say it will do you a world of good."

"That's my hope, milady."

"Grant you, I can't imagine what you ever could have done to me that requires this conversation. I suppose it's vanity that makes me believe I'd been too clever for you. Go on. I'm on tenterhooks."

Thomas took a deep breath. "Do you remember Mr Pamuk?"

Lady Mary raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I remember him."

"I was assigned as his valet during his visit, milady. If you recall, Mr Pamuk was an attractive man. While I was helping him dress for dinner, I _misunderstood_ him."

"Misunderstood?"

"Yes, milady. I misunderstood what it was he wanted from me." Thomas looked at the floor. "I made advances, milady."

"Crikey."

"Yes, milady. Crikey. Mr Pamuk could have ruined me. He promised his silence in exchange for a visit to your room. I'm ashamed to say, milady, that I complied. I didn't know what else to do."

There was a moment of terrifying silence. Thomas felt a wave of panic. "Are you going to telephone the police, milady?"

"Heavens no. Tell me, Barrow, have you ever told anyone that Mr Pamuk visited my room?"

"I told Miss O'Brien whom I believe did not repeat it, and I wrote to a former friend of mine who was Lord Savident's valet, but I said only that ... that you were no better than you ought to be. I gave him no details. I would like to say that chivalry kept me silent, but the truth is, it was never useful to me to mention it. But I give you my word now that I will never speak of it again. Are you able to accept my word, milady?"

"Yes, Barrow, of course. What an odd thing to ask."

Thomas tried to smile. "Does Your Ladyship know what you want from me in the way of making amends?"

"Forgive me, Barrow, but I don't want to be casual about this. You'll have to be patient and give me time to consider."

"Yes, milady." _Why was everyone insisting on patience?_

* * *

 **Friday**

 **The Agent's Office**

Thomas tentatively opened the door to the agent's office. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr Branson. May I speak with you for a moment?"

Tom Branson looked up from his desk. Thomas was the last person he expected to see that sunny morning. "Come in, Barrow."

"I'll be leaving Sunday for my new position, and I'm trying to tie up some loose ends before I go."

Tom leaned back in his chair. "Am I a loose end?"

"In a manner of speaking, sir."

Tom considered the man standing awkwardly before him. "You don't like me, Barrow, do you?"

Thomas was surprised by the question. "I don't _dislike_ you, sir ... exactly. I've been too jealous of you to find out if I liked you or not."

Tom laughed. "That's honest anyway. Well, Barrow, if our situations had been reversed, knowing who I was back then, I would have thought you were a rotter ... an opportunist ... a fortune hunter ... a lucky bastard not worthy of my time or respect. Does that about cover it?" Thomas nodded and could not help but smile.

"Have a seat, Barrow." Thomas sat. "So, what is this loose end?"

"I've done you a disservice, Mr Branson, and I want to make it right."

"What disservice is that?"

"I told Lord Grantham about that time you brought Miss Bunting upstairs."

Tom let out his breath. "Oh that. Lord Grantham told me."

"The thing is, Mr Branson, I was upstairs when you arrived, and I listened to your conversation. I knew very well that Miss Bunting went upstairs only to see the view. I knew that nothing improper had happened, but I led Lord Grantham to believe otherwise."

Tom frowned. "I see. And am I supposed to forgive you now so you can be on your merry way with a clear conscience?"

"No sir. I want to know what I can do to make it up to you."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"It's a promise I made to myself, sir, after I ... cut..."

"Oh, yes, of course. Well, there's no need to get into that."

"I've had this conversation about setting things right with others, sir, but there's another reason in your case."

Tom's curiosity was piqued. "And what reason is that?"

"I owe it to Lady Sybil."

"Do you?"

"Yes sir. You see, we worked together at the hospital during the war, and I admired her a great deal. So many of the other nurses were there to snag husbands or find adventure. Lady Sybil wanted nothing more than to be of service. She gave her all to the soldiers, and when she was exhausted, she managed to give even more. She was always kind to me, and I could see she thought the world of you. When you married, I promised myself that I would treat you as a member of her family out of respect for her, but I allowed my jealousy to get the better of me."

Tom gazed at Thomas. Then he spoke quietly. "Lady Sybil spoke to me about you, Barrow."

Thomas was surprised. "Did she?"

Tom nodded. "It was after that blinded soldier shot himself. Lady Sybil said it was a shame after you had brought him so far along. She said you gave your free time to help him. She said you were a generous soul."

Thomas was shocked. "She truly didn't know me, sir."

Tom smiled. "Barrow, you owe me nothing. Your memory of Lady Sybil satisfies all debts."

* * *

 **Saturday**

 **Mr Carson's Pantry**

Thomas knew this would be his last time knocking on Carson's door. "Excuse me, Mr Carson. I'll be leaving tomorrow morning, and I hoped to have a word with you."

Carson was in the middle of reviewing the inventory Thomas had taken the day before. "What can I do for you, Mr Barrow," he asked without looking up.

Thomas closed the door behind him. "I would like to clear up an injustice before I go."

Carson looked up sharply. "How have we offended you this time, Mr Barrow?" he demanded.

"You misunderstand me, Mr Carson. It is I who have offended you."

"You surprise me, Mr Barrow. Sit down then. I'm all ears."

Thomas sat. "You see, Mr Carson, I was quite young when you hired me, not that being young was an excuse. I may have had a bit of polish on the outside, but I was nothing more than a thug."

"I see."

Thomas had not expected this conversation to be his most difficult. He struggled to keep his composure. "I stole wine. I lied. I accused Mr Bates of my own crime. I..."

"I get the general idea, Mr Barrow." Carson tapped his desk. "That was a long time ago. We've all come a long way since then. Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I want to make it up to you. You've been generous to me, Mr Carson. More generous than I have deserved."

Carson cleared his throat. "Not always generous, Mr Barrow. We had some idea of your character back then. You were about to be sacked when you left for the war."

"I didn't know. Still you took me back and kept me on, even after that business with James." Thomas spoke earnestly. "Mr Carson, earning your respect is important to me. I need to wipe the slate clean. There must be something I can do for you now."

Carson stood, so Thomas stood as well. "Make me proud in your new position, Mr Barrow. Reflect well on this house and on me. That's all I ask of you. That's all I need."

* * *

 **Late at night, a few days later**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Bates was happy to be back home. He saw Anna's suitcase at-the-ready by the door as usual. He gave it a little kick as he always did when Anna was not in the room. He found Anna asleep in the bedroom. A few minutes after he slipped into bed, she rolled over and grinned. "I felt the baby kick."

"Did you?"

Anna took Bates' hand and placed it on her belly, and they waited.

"I felt it! There, again! Oh, Anna! We're going to be parents, truly."

Anna cuddled up to Bates. "I'll have to write Thomas, and tell him the baby kicked. He'll be so excited."

"I said goodbye to him, Anna, before I left for Brancaster Castle. Have you heard from him yet?"

"Yes, he wrote after his first day of work. It's a dull situation for him. There's only a cook, a maid, and Thomas. Sir Mark and his wife are an older couple who rarely entertain."

"But do you think he'll be stable?"

"I hope so. I miss him. He's been so sweet and thoughtful about the baby."

"Anna?"

"Yes?" Bates did not answer. "What is it, John?"

"Anna, do you know what it means to black out?"

"Of course, silly. It means to faint, doesn't it?"

Bates sighed. "Not exactly. When someone falls asleep or passes out after heavy drinking and then can't remember a block of time while they were drunk, that's a blackout."

"Oh."

"Anna, that night Thomas and I got drunk, I blacked out. I can remember Thomas gobbling pickled eggs. I can remember having a couple of pints to his one. I can remember thinking that made me more of a man somehow."

"Oh, John!"

"I know, but that's what I was thinking. I can remember singing, but I don't remember where. Then I can't remember anything at all until Thomas broke my cane and choked me. That's a blackout."

"Was that the first time?"

"No." Anna could hear the tightness in Bates' voice. "I blacked out regularly before I came to Downton. I'm so ashamed, Anna. How could I have been so foolish as to think it couldn't happen now?"

Anna kissed Bates' cheek. "I believe that's a mistake you'll never repeat. There's no point in agonizing over it now."

"Anna, please repeat what Thomas told you about that night. What made him so angry?"

Anna repeated Thomas' account of the night. Bates was devastated when she repeated his words to Thomas, _If you were a real man._

"He must know I didn't mean it that way!"

"I'm sorry, John, but he thinks because you were drunk that you were saying what you really felt."

"But that's not what I feel. What do I do now, Anna? How do I make him believe me?"

Anna kissed Bates again. She felt that her kind-hearted husband had been restored to her. "I don't know, John. Perhaps Thomas isn't the only one who needs to make amends."

"Perhaps not."

* * *

 **Late at night, the day after Christmas**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room  
The Estate of Sir Mark Stiles**

Thomas sat on his bed and opened the letter he had received that morning from Bates. Anna had written him often, but this was his first letter from Bates. He had kept it in his pocket all day waiting for the privacy of his room before opening it. The letter was short.

 _Dear Thomas,_

 _I don't deny the words I said while I was drunk. I do deny their meaning because I was drunk._

 _John_

Thomas turned over the letter, but the other side was blank. He looked in the envelope for a second page but the envelope was empty. He reread the message but did not understand it. Was it an apology? Was it an attack? He read it again, trying to decipher its meaning. He folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and put the envelope in his top drawer.

Thomas looked at the little bottle of olive oil that Bates had left him and the talc brush he had purchased because Bates recommended it. He picked up his can of talc and tapped a little into his hand. He picked up the powder with the brush, turned his hand over, and brushed the powder over the back of his hand. He watched as a couple of tears fell onto his hand, seized up in the talc, and rolled off.

If only he could hold on until New Year's Eve. Lady Stiles had promised him he could have the time off to attend Lady Edith's wedding. He had been looking forward to it for weeks. Now all he needed was a reason to look forward to the rest of his life.


	12. Making Amends

**CHAPTER 12: MAKING AMENDS**

 **New Year's Eve**

 **Lady Edith's Wedding  
St. Michael's Church**

Thomas spotted Bates and Anna already seated in the church. He slipped in next to Anna who was pleased to see him. How wonderfully fat she was, just as she had described in her last letter. But Bates did not so much as acknowledge Thomas' presence. He sat quietly reading the wedding programme. Was he waiting for Thomas to speak first? Was he silent because he did not want to make a scene in public? Thomas tried to answer Anna's questions with good humour, but his heart filled with grief. Nothing had changed. He and Bates were not friends after all, and Bates' letter had meant nothing.

Thomas stood with the other guests when Lady Edith entered the church escorted by Lord Grantham. He was stunned by her elegance. Was this the same gawky girl he had seen when he first arrived at Downton? Thomas wondered if he had changed as much as she had over the years.

After the ceremony, Bates and Anna and the other servants disappeared. Thomas knew the staff was spread thinly and would be occupied for the rest of the celebration. Still, he wanted to see the house again.

* * *

 **Lady Edith's Wedding Reception  
The Abbey**

Today was the first time Thomas had ever been welcomed at the front door of Downton Abbey as a guest. Lady Grantham greeting him warmly, commenting that there would not have been a wedding if Thomas had not saved Lady Edith from the fire. As he wandered about the Great Hall, Thomas could see Carson's hand in every perfected detail of the proceedings.

Thomas was listening quietly to the latest Abbey gossip when he heard Carson speaking in a loud, annoyed voice. How unlike Carson to forget himself in front of guests. Thomas turned and saw that Carson had spilled some champagne. His hands must have been shaking again. Anna had written him about Carson's affliction. Lord Grantham, Lady Mary, and Mr Talbot were gathered around, and Mr Talbot was offering to pour the champagne. Thomas knew how upsetting that would be for Carson. He immediately stepped up and offered his assistance.

The next thing Thomas knew, Lord Grantham was conferring with Carson and offering Thomas the job of butler at Downton Abbey. Butler of Downton Abbey! Thomas accepted as graciously as he knew how. Within a few minutes, he was pouring champagne, wondering what had happened. How had his fortunes changed so quickly? All he had done was offered to help. Thomas tried not to think about how Bates might react to the news.

* * *

 **After Midnight**

 **The Servants' Hall**

As the evening wound down, Lady Mary descended to the Servants' Hall where she knew the staff would be welcoming the New Year with their own celebration. She stepped into the hall, apologized for the intrusion, and expressed her wishes to all for a happy New Year. She asked Thomas to speak with her in the library, and he followed her up the stairs.

"So Carson has found his replacement," Lady Mary began as they climbed the stairs.

"I hope Your Ladyship is satisfied."

"I'm satisfied. You understand that Carson will remain a sort of elder statesman of the Abbey, as Lord Grantham put it. Are you content with that arrangement, Barrow?"

"I'm content, milady. I know Mr Carson will want me to start off on the right foot."

"Quite right."

In the library, Lady Mary turned to Barrow. "You're a guest in this house tonight, Barrow. Let's take a seat, shall we?"

"If you insist, milady." Thomas waited for Lady Mary to sit and then joined her.

"I want to discuss Carson. He's been employed in this house since before I was born. I have many fond memories of him."

"I'm certain, milady."

"I remember when I was five. I was terribly frustrated because I couldn't make head nor tail of all the cutlery Lady Edith and I used at our pretend dinner parties. Lady Edith may have been the younger of us, but she already had it all straight and was constantly correcting me. So you see, Barrow, our rivalry began early."

Thomas smiled. "I can imagine, milady."

"One afternoon when Lady Edith had been taken somewhere or other, Carson came to the nursery with a surprise for me. He had cut out paper dresses and suits for all the cutlery. We dressed a full place setting of forks, knives, and spoons, and he told me a story for each piece to help me sort it out. I can't remember them all, but my favourite was the fish fork, Philomena Fishwife. Carson warned me that if I put her in the wrong position, she would become angry and spit fish bones at me."

"I can see why you're fond of Mr Carson."

"Tell me, Barrow, do you recall our conversation about making amends?"

"Yes, milady. Do you know now what you want to ask of me?"

"I can't bear the thought of Carson being made to feel unnecessary. He will never be unnecessary to me. And I hate the thought of him being humoured. He would see straight through that. Do you understand?"

"I believe so, milady. You should have no concern where Mr Carson is concerned. He's taught me almost everything I know about being in service. If I want to be successful as butler of Downton Abbey, and I do, I would be foolish not to seek his advice. Even having been an under butler here, much will be new to me."

"I'm glad we understand each other, Barrow. Now we're square." Lady Mary stood and Barrow followed suit.

"Now I have a favour to ask of you."

"Certainly, milady."

"I've left something in my room. Would you please take care of it?"

"Of course, milady. What is it you'd like me to do?"

Lady Mary smiled. "Go to my room, Barrow. You'll know what to do."

"But milady..."

Lady Mary looked at Barrow blankly. "Barrow, we're not going to have an argument, are we, when you haven't even begun in an official capacity?"

"No, of course not, milady, but..."

Lady Mary interrupted, "Right. Then off you go."

* * *

 **Lady Mary's Room**

Thomas opened the door to Lady Mary's room and stepped inside wondering how on earth he would know what it was Lady Mary wanted. He was stunned to see none other than Bates and Anna on Lady Mary's bed. "Oh! Excuse me!" Confused, Thomas turned to leave.

"Thomas, wait!" Anna called. Thomas turned to Anna. She was wearing a nightgown, and Bates had removed his coat and collar. Thomas felt the colour rise in his cheeks. Then he saw the baby. The baby had been born!

Before Thomas could piece it all together, Bates was standing in front of him. Thomas could see that Bates' face was full of emotion, but he could not identify what emotion it was. Was Bates going to shake his hand, smack him, or throw him out? They were not in public now. Thomas held out his hand. "Congratulations, John."

Bates looked from Thomas' face to his hand to his face again. Then he threw his arms around Thomas and embraced him. "I'm a father, Thomas! I have a son!"

Thomas hesitated for a moment and then clapped Bates on the back. "Congratulations!"

Bates released Thomas and stepped back. "Don't you want to meet him?"

"Yes, but ... John, something's happened that you may not like."

Bates saw the concern in Thomas' eyes. "What is it, little brother?"

 _Little brother_. It warmed Thomas to hear those words. "Mr Carson is retiring, and Lord Grantham has hired me as butler."

Bates smiled. "Did you hear that Anna?"

"It seems as though congratulations are in order for you as well," answered Anna. "Congratulations, Thomas!"

"Then you don't object?"

Bates laughed. "Why would I object? I have a son! Now come along and meet him."

Thomas looked at Anna. "Is it all right, Anna?"

Anna smiled and nodded. She was tired, but she understood how much it meant to Thomas to see the baby.

Thomas approached the bed. "Congratulations, Anna."

Bates glowed. "This is my son, Thomas!"

Anna scolded, "I believe I helped a wee bit, John. This is _our_ son."

Bates laughed. "Excuse me. Thomas, this is _our_ son!"

Thomas leaned over for a peek. "So this is young Bates. Does this handsome lad have a name?"

"Timothy Colin Bates," replied Bates and Anna together. "Timothy was John's father, and Colin was mine," added Anna.

"May I hold him, Anna?"

"Of course, Thomas."

Thomas picked up the baby, carefully abiding by Anna's instructions to support his head. "Hello, young Bates, I'm your Uncle Thomas." Thomas strolled about the room, gazing at Timothy and telling him about all the wonders he would see at Downton. When Timothy began to fuss, Thomas held him firmly against his shoulder and gently bounced as he walked. "Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine days old. Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old." Timothy calmed easily. "There you go, Tadpole," Thomas cooed.

Bates sat on the bed next to Anna and watched Thomas contentedly. "Thomas, there's a matter we must discuss, you and I. Do you still intend to make amends to me?"

"You know I do, once you decide." Thomas looked up from Timothy. "Why? Do you know what you want?"

"Certainly I know." Bates winked at Anna. "I want you to teach Timothy everything you know about cricket."

Thomas laughed. "That won't feel like much of a punishment.

Bates shrugged. "Who said making amends has to be a punishment?"

Thomas regarded Bates. Bates would be able to toss a ball with Timothy, but he would never be able to run and play with him the way Thomas would. Not with his cane. Thomas realised that Bates had bestowed an honour on him. "I accept, John, but I don't think young Bates is ready quite yet. I believe this young man wants his mum."

"Do you hear that, John? Mum!" Anna revelled in her new appellation.

Thomas returned Timothy to Anna. Bates stood and took Thomas by the arm. "There's something else we need to discuss, Thomas. It seems that I must make amends to you."

"To me? What do you mean?"

"Thomas, that night we went to the Grantham Arms ... the next day, I couldn't remember much of what happened. I had blacked out. I remembered your hands on my throat, but I couldn't remember what led up to it."

Thomas did not want to spoil the New Year by talking about that dreadful night. "You don't have to..."

"Let me finish, Thomas, please. Before I came to Downton, I suffered many a blackout after a night of drinking. I didn't want to admit to Anna or to you or even to myself that I had sunk that low again. It was weeks before I confessed it to Anna. She had to tell me what actually happened that night, or I never would have known." Bates swallowed hard. "Please understand, Thomas. I was deeply ashamed. I struggled to write you several times, but I couldn't get past my own foolish pride until a few days ago."

"What changed?"

Bates smiled. "We missed you." He put his arm around Thomas' shoulders and gave him a squeeze. " _I_ missed you, little brother."

Thomas looked at Anna, and she smiled and nodded.

Bates continued. "When I saw you at the church today, I was so embarrassed by my behaviour that I didn't know how to begin. I hoped you would say something."

Thomas smiled sheepishly. "I was waiting for you to say something."

Bates stood squarely in front of Thomas and clasped his arms. "Thomas, I'm ready to make amends. I would be pleased ... _Anna_ and I would be pleased if you would consent to be godfather to our son. What do you say?"

The colour drained from Thomas' face. He was overwhelmed. "Yes! I say yes! What else would I say?"

Anna saw Thomas sway. "Oh dear, John, catch him!"

"This has been the best day of my life," Thomas declared as his knees buckled.


	13. Who That Well His Warke Beginneth

**CHAPTER 13: WHO THAT WELL HIS WARKE BEGINNETH**

 **Mid-January, early morning**

 **The Servants' Hall**

Thomas had worked out his notice for Sir Mark and moved back into the Abbey attic the night before. Now he was ready for his first official day as the Downton Abbey butler.

He came to the servants' hall early and expected it to be empty. When he entered, he found Mrs Hughes, Bates, Baxter, and Andy waiting for him. They stood when he came through the door and applauded. Thomas was speechless.

"Thomas Barrow unable to speak," Mrs Hughes observed. "You might have knocked me down with a feather." Everyone laugh, and Thomas was relieved. Mrs Hughes and Baxter excused themselves. They had much to accomplish before breakfast.

Bates shook Thomas' hand. "Anna says I'm to give you her best wishes. She'll be back to work soon." Bates was careful to address Thomas by his last name. "I must get on, Mr Barrow," He winked. "That is unless you have some special task for me."

Thomas clasped Bates' hand and shook it once more. "That's all I need, Mr Bates." And so his first day had begun...

* * *

 **Later that morning**

 **The Carson Cottage**

Thomas wasted no time securing Carson's advice. He walked to the Carson cottage and knocked at the door. Carson was sorting through the personal items he had brought home from the butler's pantry. He was surprised, but not displeased, to see Thomas so soon. "What is it I may do for you, Mr Barrow?"

"Mr Carson, I've spent the last several days taking inventory of my qualifications for the position of butler."

"That seems a worthwhile effort. What was your conclusion?"

"I can't conquer all my shortcomings in one day, so I've selected the one that most urgently requires attention. I hope you will help me, Mr Carson."

"Won't you sit down, Mr Barrow? I certainly want to be of service if I'm able."

Thomas waited for Carson to sit at the table and then sat across from him. "As you know, Mr Carson, Lord Grantham has restricted his intake of wine to only two glasses for an entire day because of his ulcer."

"Yes, it's unfortunate that a man of His Lordship's discerning taste has been forced to deny himself."

"I'm sorry to say, Mr Carson, that I can boast of no expertise whatsoever when it comes to wine. I'm afraid I will bore His Lordship with my selections."

Carson was surprised by Thomas' humility on the subject ... on any subject. "I see."

"I know that you have made a study of wine over many years, and Lord Grantham has always appreciated your choices. I want to make the most of His Lordship's two glasses, but I don't have the slightest idea where to begin. Are you able to help me?"

Carson leaned back in his chair. "I see you've given intelligent thought to this matter. However, you must realize that it took me years to accumulate my knowledge of fine wines. I hope you're not asking me to make you an expert overnight."

"Certainly not, Mr Carson. I would be pleased to tell His Lordship when you have provided me with a recommendation that he enjoys."

Carson was gratified by Thomas' gesture. "That's kind of you, Mr Barrow, but certainly not necessary."

"Do you think, Mr Carson, with time, that you could teach me to make my own selections?"

Carson gave the question serious consideration. "That will depend upon your palate, Mr Barrow. I'm certainly willing to give it a go."

"I appreciate it, Mr Carson. I hope that I won't disappoint you." Thomas had a second thought. "I must confess, Mr Carson, that I may consume only a small amount of wine when you instruct me. I don't hold spirits well."

"Very wise, Mr Barrow, but not a concern. Tasting wine requires only the smallest sip. It's an art, as you will discover." Carson smiled. "I confess, Mr Barrow, that when I was a slim young man such as yourself, I didn't hold spirits well either."

Carson made some initial recommendations to Thomas explaining how to choose among them depending on Mrs Patmore's menu. Thomas took careful notes. Carson agreed to meet Thomas after tea the next day for his first lesson, and Thomas bade him good day.

When Mrs Hughes returned home that night, she was surprised to find her husband singing.

* * *

 **Who that well his warke beginneth,  
** **The rather a good ende he winneth.**

John Gower **  
**


	14. An Old-fashioned Man

**CHAPTER 14: AN OLD-FASHIONED MAN**

 **One week later, early morning**

 **Lord Grantham's dressing room**

Lord Grantham extended his arm so that Bates could insert a cuff link. "The christening was charming, Bates. You were quite the proud papa."

"I'm afraid I was a bit soppy, my Lord. I couldn't help myself."

"I was the same way. I went through two handkerchiefs with Lady Mary."

"Was it easier by the time Lady Edith and Lady Sybil came along?"

"No. They practically had to carry me out of the church with Lady Sybil." Lord Grantham raised his chin so that Bates could make a proper knot in his tie. "I don't mean to offend you, Bates, but Thomas Barrow as Timothy's godfather? It was enough to make a stuffed bird laugh."

Bates focused on Lord Grantham's tie. "I'll try not to take offence, my Lord."

Lord Grantham could see that his little joke was not appreciated. "I'm afraid I've been unkind. Please accept my apology, Bates. It's only that I thought there was no love lost between you."

"We've tried to put the past behind us, my Lord. The truth is, Mr Barrow has worked hard to make a fresh start ever since his bad time last summer."

"So I've heard. I'm surprised the others are willing to give him a new chance. Carson says that he's teaching Barrow the finer points of wine. It was generous of him to volunteer."

"I beg your pardon, my Lord, but he didn't volunteer. Mr Barrow asked him for help."

"Did he really?" Lord Grantham was surprised. He could not picture a humble Thomas Barrow. "Whatever possessed him to do that?"

"He wants to do his best for you, my Lord. And I can assure you that Mr Carson isn't making it easy for him."

"No?"

Bates' eyes crinkled with amusement. "Mr Carson spent their first two sessions teaching Mr Barrow the proper method by which to take a sip of wine."

Lord Grantham laughed. "Not really! And Barrow hasn't surrendered?"

"No, my Lord, he's determined to succeed."

"Well, bravo to him! I'll be looking at him with fresh eyes, Bates."

"Yes, my Lord." Bates stepped back to check Lord Grantham's appearance. He smiled. Lord Grantham was nicely turned out.

* * *

 **Mid-February, late at night**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Bates was disappointed that he had missed most of Thomas' first visit to the cottage in almost a month. Thomas had been able to squeeze out a little time from his duties, and the two of them planned to walk to the cottage together to join Anna for a late supper. Alas, Lord Grantham chose this particular evening to exceed his self-imposed restriction with a glass of port. Thomas filled his glass and then His Lordship nearly tripped over Tiaa and dumped the port across his dinner jacket. "Cora put you up to that," accused His Lordship before giving the dog a thorough ear scratching. Bates had been obliged to remain at the Abbey so he could remove the offensive stain before it set. It had taken nearly two hours for Bates to be certain he had eradicated every spot, but such was his livelihood.

Bates heard laughter as he approached the cottage. He opened the door ready to join the fun but stopped short. Anna was sitting at the table with her hair down. She was holding a hand mirror, and Thomas was standing behind her with his hands in her hair. Thomas' fingers were entwined in his wife's hair! "Well, now, isn't that a pretty picture!"

Anna happily ran to Bates and kissed him. "We thought you'd never get free."

Thomas was about to join them but checked himself when he read Bates' stony expression. He remained at the table. "Good evening, John."

Bates did not reply. Anna looked at her husband and then at Thomas and felt the inexplicable tension between them. Thomas quickly retrieved his hat. "Goodnight, Anna. I have an early morning and better get on. Thank you for a lovely supper."

Anna frowned at Bates. She gave Thomas a kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight, Thomas."

Bates remained at the door and slowly relinquished only enough space for Thomas to squeeze by, never releasing Thomas from his gaze.

When the door shut after Thomas, Anna turned on Bates. "Have you gone mad?"

"He was playing with your hair!"

Anna could not believe what she was hearing. "He was showing me what my hair would look like if I had it bobbed."

Bates was incensed. "He was trying to convince you to cut your hair?"

"No," Anna replied with an icy calm. "He was trying to convince me _not_ to cut my hair. He said you wouldn't like it. He said it wouldn't be flattering, and he was trying to show me how it would look in the mirror."

Bates took a moment to absorb that bit of information. "I put my foot in it, didn't I?"

"Yes you did, John."

"And I suppose this makes me a caveman."

Anna could not help but smile. "Yes, it does."

Bates looked at the door and then at Anna. "I'll go after him, Anna."

"Thank you, John." Anna took hold of Bates' tie and pulled his head down for a kiss. "You know that anything between Thomas and me is preposterous. It's _impossible_!"

"I know." John opened the door and hobbled after Thomas.

Thomas was sitting on a bench not far from the cottage having a smoke. He saw Bates heading for the Abbey and was alarmed. Was something wrong with Timothy? He called out, "John, what's wrong?"

Bates turned and saw Thomas' outline in the moonlight. "I was looking for you."

"Well, you found me."

Bates approached the bench. "I seemed to have jumped to an unfortunate conclusion."

Thomas was silent.

Bates sat on the bench. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"Should I?"

"Give me a drag, little brother."

"You smoke?" Thomas tried to recall if he had ever seen Bates with a cigarette.

"Like a chimney when I was younger. Rarely now. Makes me too short of breath to manage all the stairs."

Thomas handed his cigarette to Bates. Bates closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Thomas was entranced as he watched the smoke play about Bates' lips. Bates passed the cigarette back to Thomas.

"Thomas, try to understand. I'm an old-fashioned man. I stepped into my own home and saw a handsome man fingering my wife's hair."

Thomas took another drag and handed the cigarette back to Bates. "So ... I'm a real man now, am I?"

"Don't be that way, Thomas." Bates took another puff, and Thomas watched, fascinated, as the exhaled smoke encircled Bates' face. "The two of you seemed so ... _intimate_. She may as well have been sitting on your lap."

Bates tried to hand the cigarette back to Thomas, but Thomas held up his hand. Bates placed the cigarette between his lips, leaned back, and spread his arms along the back of the bench. He stretched out his legs, gazed at the moon, and enjoyed the last few puffs.

There were moments such as this that Thomas found Bates utterly irresistible. He imagined himself leaning into Bates and his own lips accepting the smoke from Bates' mouth. Thomas shook his head and refocused his thoughts. "I saw you talking with Andy yesterday. You were both laughing, and you kept touching him."

Bates dropped the butt to the ground and crushed it out. "Did I?"

"You patted his shoulder, and you slapped him on the back. You even tousled his hair and said he was a fine lad."

Bates leaned back again. "There's no mystery there. He was telling me his grand plan to propose to Daisy. He was excited and happy, and I was pleased for him. I think she's ready to accept, don't you?"

"But Mr Bates, you touched his hair, and you seemed so _intimate_!" mocked Thomas.

Bates chuckled. "Fine, Thomas, you've made me feel ridiculous. Satisfied?"

"No." Thomas turned away from Bates. "I get tired of always having to explain myself."

Bates sighed. He knew his behaviour had offended Thomas and hurt his feelings. They needed to understand each other. "Are you saying that there is no difference between Anna and you and Andy and me?"

"Not exactly. Andy and you are friendly. Anna and I are friends. I don't _think_ so much when I'm around her, do you know what I mean? I'm enough for her as I am. And sometimes..." Thomas felt a surge of emotion.

"Sometimes ... what?" Bates asked gently.

"Last week, Anna was fixing a crushed hat of Lady Mary's. It was a wreck, but she was determined, and she set her jaw." Thomas tried to imitate Anna's expression. "You know what I mean, John, you've seen it. It was exactly the way my sister used to set her jaw when she tried to cook." Thomas felt Bates' hand on his shoulder. "I cherish my friendship with your wife, John. I only regret that if I had been a kinder person, I might have enjoyed it sooner. Are you asking me to give it up?"

Bates was surprised. "Of course not!" Thomas look at Bates intently. "Perhaps that's what I was thinking at the cottage, but only for a moment," Bates admitted. "I'm not a saint, Thomas. I can have a temper, and I can be jealous."

"Were you jealous of me, John?"

"I'm afraid I was, little brother."

"That's tosh, you know."

"Anna said, _preposterous_."

"Why would you be jealous of me?"

Bates laughed. He reached up and tousled Thomas' hair. "Because you're a fine lad."

Thomas hated for his hair to be mussed, but this was too delicious. "Mr Bates, are you flirting with me?"

Bates laughed again. "Now, Thomas, I've told you that I'm an old-fashioned man. I don't hold with married men who flirt with bachelors." Bates stood and collected his cane. "Anna's waiting to hear that we've kissed and made up. You know, Thomas, your friendship means as much to Anna as it does to you." Bates took hold of Thomas' chin and tilted his face up. This had become his habit with Thomas when something was of importance and he wanted no misunderstanding. "Are we good, little brother?"

"We're good, John." Bates smiled, tousled Thomas' hair once more for good measure and hobbled up the path.


	15. Learning Is in the Doing

**CHAPTER 15: LEARNING IS IN THE DOING**

 **Three weeks later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Lord Grantham had been so amused by Carson's tutelage of Barrow that he permitted Carson to make tasting selections from his wine cellar, confident that Carson would not abuse the privilege. As a result, Carson decided that it would be convenient for Thomas to have his lessons in the butler's pantry.

Every Monday and Thursday afternoon, Carson would walk to the Abbey from his cottage and interrogate Mrs Patmore about the evening's dinner menu. Then he would make complementary wine selections from the cellar for Thomas to taste. Early in the evening, Andy would take responsibility for preparing the dining room for the family's dinner while Thomas received instruction from Carson in the pantry. After the lesson, Thomas and Andy would carry the bottles that Carson had opened to the dining room. There, the wine would be consumed by the family before it had the opportunity to overdevelop.

On this particular evening, Carson was seated at the small table when Thomas opened the pantry door. On the table sat a bottle of Bordeaux, cheesecloth, string, a candle in a holder, and a decanter. "Good afternoon, Mr Barrow. Today, it is your turn to decant the wine. I selected this bottle yesterday morning and stored it upright so the sediment would have time to settle at the bottom."

"Why don't we store all the wines upright, Mr Carson?"

"We store the wines horizontally to keep the corks moist, Mr Barrow."

"I didn't know. Should I get my notebook, Mr Carson?"

"Not yet, Mr Barrow. Learning is in the doing, not in the writing. Your first task is to uncork the bottle while keeping it perfectly still so the sediment remains at the bottom."

As Thomas gingerly uncorked the bottle, Carson questioned him.

"Why do we decant wine, Mr Barrow?"

"To separate the wine from its sediment and to aerate the wine."

"Why do we not want sediment in the decanter?"

"Because it can be gritty."

"And?"

Thomas tried to picture his notes in his mind's eye. "And ... it can have a bitter taste."

"And what does it mean to aerate the wine, Mr Barrow?"

That was an easy one. "To expose the surface of the wine to air."

"Why do we want to aerate the wine?"

"To open the ... the aroma and the flavour."

"And what does that mean, Mr Barrow?"

"To make the aroma and flavour more ... vibrant?"

"I see you've been paying attention, Mr Barrow. Now cover the mouth of the decanter with the cheesecloth and tie it securely about the rim."

Thomas followed Carson's instructions.

"Now light the candle."

"Why do I need a candle, Mr Carson?"

"To help you see when the sediment reaches the neck of the bottle as you pour."

"Ah." Thomas lit the candle.

"Now pick up the bottle gently so as not to disturb the sediment. Pour it slowly and continuously into the decanter until you see the first sign of sediment in the neck."

"Why must I pour slowly, Mr Carson?"

"Because the wine will leave the bottle in a thinner stream allowing more of the wine's surface to be exposed to air. And you'll be less likely to slosh the sediment about."

Thomas poured with one hand and moved the candle to a better position with the other. He kept a sharp eye on the bottle's neck for sediment. "Mr Carson, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Mr Barrow. About decanting?"

"No, about your time as butler."

"Careful! You're pouring too quickly." Thomas gently adjusted the bottle's angle to slow the stream of wine. "What is it you want to ask, Mr Barrow?"

"Mr Carson, when you were promoted to butler, did you ever feel as though you were not quite ... that you didn't have the ... I beg your pardon, Mr Carson. I should keep to the subject of wine."

Carson raised his eyes from the bottle and peered at Thomas. "I felt like a fraud who had no business being in charge of other people's lives or making decisions that could affect the success or failure of the family in society. Is that about right?"

"Yes," confessed Thomas. "How long did it take for that feeling to fade, Mr Carson?"

"Who says it faded, Mr Barrow?

"But Mr Carson, in the ... what ... sixteen years I've known you, I've never seen you lack confidence."

"It doesn't matter how you feel, Mr Barrow. It matters how you behave. Think of Lord Grantham as Admiral of the Fleet. This house is one of his ships, and you are the captain. You must take charge, confident or not. Everyone on board is dependent on you to keep the ship afloat and to travel safely from port to port. If the ship takes on water or you chart a wrong course, you are responsible, confident or not. You can't blame your crew. You assigned their duties; it was your responsibility, confident or not, to teach them competence. And if the ship sinks..."

"I must go down with it, confident or not?"

"Be certain everyone is off, Mr Barrow. Then you may abandon ship. A captain has no use for unnecessary dramatics."

"That's a relief." Thomas stopped pouring. "Look, Mr Carson, in the neck! It looks like specks of dust." Thomas set the bottle on the table. "Is that sediment?"

"Yes, Mr Barrow. Sediment may even appear in the neck as nothing more than a haze. That was nicely done, Mr Barrow." Carson shifted in his chair as he prepared for the lecture portion of his lesson. "You may take out your notebook now, and we'll discuss appropriate aeration times for different wines and which wines should not be decanted."

"Do you mean to say they're not all the same, Mr Carson?"

"Heavens no, man. You could ruin a promising wine by letting it aerate too long!"

"You're the teacher, Mr Carson." Thomas retrieved his notebook.

Carson permitted himself a smile of satisfaction when Thomas was not looking. He never imagined that Thomas, of all people, would be the willing heir to the knowledge Carson had taken a lifetime to acquire. He had always expected that his passion would die with him.


	16. Thomas Barrow's Folly

**CHAPTER 16: THOMAS BARROW'S FOLLY**

 **A month later**

 **Lord Grantham's Dressing Room**

Bates was laying out his Lordship's uniform for a regimental dinner in Sheffield when Lord Grantham opened the dressing room door. In place of his usual cordial greeting, Lord Grantham announced, "It seems that your Barrow has been part of a scheme to cheat me!"

Bates had no clue as to what Lord Grantham was referring. "Cheat you, my Lord?"

"I received an outrageous bill in the mail this morning for the remodelling of Lady Mary's bathroom. Your Barrow's made a fool of me."

Bates slipped off Lord Grantham's coat. "Haven't you used the same plumber for years? Gibson is it?"

"Gordon. He's retired. Barrow selected someone new."

Bates unbuttoned Lord Grantham's waistcoat. "Perhaps Mr Barrow used poor judgment, my Lord, but I can't imagine that he tried to cheat you."

"You're so certain?"

"I would stake my reputation on it, my Lord."

"What spell has Barrow cast over you, Bates?"

Bates removed Lord Grantham's tie. "I believe I'm in my right senses, my Lord."

"And I believe Barrow received a bribe in exchange for hiring this new plumber."

"Has Your Lordship asked Mr Barrow for an explanation?"

"Are you telling me how to handle my affairs, Bates?"

"I beg your pardon, my Lord." Bates removed Lord Grantham's cuff links.

"I don't mean to snap at you, Bates, but I'll never understand this odd friendship between you and Barrow. Why do you defend him?"

"I wasn't aware that I was defending him, my Lord. I was only suggesting that you may not have all the facts."

Lord Grantham sat so that Bates could remove his shoes. "As soon as I began to question Barrow, Lady Mary sent him out of the room to fetch a fresh pot of coffee. The truth is, Bates, when I rehired Barrow, Lady Mary insisted that she make any future decisions regarding his employment, and I agreed."

"Then I'm certain Lady Mary will sort it out quickly, my Lord."

"And I'm certain, Bates, that Lady Mary will not be able to forgive Barrow if he has betrayed her trust in him."

* * *

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

When Thomas opened the pantry door, he didn't expect to find Bates seated and waiting for him. Thomas closed the door and walked to his desk.

"I've heard some unpleasant news about you, Thomas, from Lord Grantham.

"About the plumbing bill?" Thomas asked grimly.

"Yes."

"Lady Mary has asked me for the original estimate." Thomas opened his bottom desk drawer. "Here it is. I'm to bring it to her in the library."

"Tell me what happened, Thomas."

"We needed a new plumber. I hired this new fellow, Hopwood."

"How did you find out about him?"

"He had bought out old Mr Gordon's business. I went to Gordon's shop thinking I could see samples or photographs of the Roman tub Lady Mary wanted, and there he was."

"Did you speak to Gordon about him?"

"No. Hopwood said Gordon had left for Manchester to live with his daughter."

"Did you get references?"

"No."

"Speak to former clients?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He was new here. He seemed a decent sort. I wanted to give him a chance."

"With Lord Grantham's money?"

Thomas dropped into his chair.

Bates hesitated. It had been less than a year since Thomas had tried to end his life, and at times Bates detected something fragile in Thomas that frightened him. But Thomas' career was at risk, and Bates had no choice but to push forward. "I may be able to help you, Thomas, but I must understand what happened."

Thomas nodded.

"You're a savvy man. What made you trust Hopwood without any sort of reference?"

"He was ... persuasive."

Bates was becoming impatient. "There's something you're not saying, little brother. What is it?"

"Hopwood is the same as me, John."

"The same as you?" Bates thought a moment. "Oh. Go on."

"We hit it off. He gave me a reasonable estimate, so I hired him." Thomas lowered his eyes to his desk. "He has a small flat above the shop, and I've been visiting him there."

"You've been visiting his flat, and...?"

Thomas nodded.

"I see. That's why we haven't seen you at the cottage lately."

Thomas nodded again. "Hopwood would tell me about new plumbing advances, things of which I'd never heard, and how impressed Lady Mary would be if I had them installed. They weren't in his original estimate, but he made them sound indispensable. I would ask about the cost, and he would say, _Not much._ " Thomas placed his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his hands. "I approved all his extras without estimates. I thought Lady Mary would be pleased with the results. I can't believe I was so stupid. I was nothing more than a stooge!"

Bates softened. "I'm afraid so. I'm going to ask you one more question, Thomas. You must be honest with me. I'm going to believe you no matter what your answer."

Thomas lowered his hands from his face and nodded. He could not guess what Bates felt he needed to ask, and he dreaded finding out.

"Did Hopwood promise you any personal benefit if you awarded him the job or approved the extras?"

"Benefit?"

"Such as a share of his profit or even ... sex?"

"No! I thought he and I..." Thomas fell silent. He picked up the estimate and headed for the door.

Bates stood. "I don't want to pry, Thomas. I want to help you."

"I know." Thomas leaned against the door with his back to Bates. "I didn't _bargain_ with him for sex. He said he loved me. I thought we were making love. I thought we loved each other. I took him to the Netherby Hotel for dinner. I said that he was my cousin who had just returned from a year in Germany, and I wanted to remind him of the joys of fine English food. I stepped aside with the waiter and tipped him to make a fuss over Hopwood. I..." Thomas was too humiliated to continue.

"What?" Bates asked gently.

Thomas sighed. "I bought him gold cuff links."

"Oh, Thomas!" Bates was surprised that Thomas could have been so naïve. This Hopwood bastard must have been quite the charmer. Bates stepped behind Thomas and rested his hand on Thomas' shoulder.

Thomas continued, "I wanted to get them engraved, but Hopwood said that engraved cuff links would put his private life on display."

Bates didn't know whether to shake Thomas or hold him. "He didn't want you to get them engraved because he wanted to be able to sell them. I'm sorry, little brother. I doubt a man like that is capable of love."

Thomas didn't turn around. He only nodded, opened the door, and headed to the library.

* * *

 **Outside the Library**

Thomas knew that Lady Mary never would have allowed herself to be manipulated in the way Hopwood had manipulated him. She was not going to understand. Thomas tried to calm himself before opening the library door. _You are the captain. If the ship takes on water or you chart a wrong course, you are responsible, confident or not._ Thomas struggled to breathe deeply. He could delay no longer.


	17. A Pledge

**CHAPTER 17: A PLEDGE**

 **A moment later**

 **The Library**

Thomas stepped into the library and found Lady Mary seated on the sofa. "I have Hopwood's estimate, milady."

"Come in, Barrow." Lady Mary's voice was clipped. She had trusted Thomas and did not like to feel the fool. She watched Thomas as he approached. He carried himself with his usual proud posture, but his pale face betrayed him.

"I am not pleased that I have to interrogate you, Barrow. I find such conversations demeaning." Lady Mary held up the plumbing bill. "Kindly explain this."

Thomas took the bill from Lady Mary. This had been his first opportunity to see it, and he tried to read it, but the paper shook. Thomas dropped his hand and pressed the paper against his leg to force his hand still.

"Do you have nothing to say, Barrow?"

"I have no respectable explanation to offer, milady, and I have no way to say this delicately. I was drawn to Hopwood and did not use reason in my dealings with him. I pray you believe me, milady, when I say that I behaved stupidly, but not dishonestly. Either way, I did you a disservice which I regret deeply."

"Heavens, Barrow. That was a mouthful!" This was not the conversation that Lady Mary had anticipated. "Are you telling me you were attracted to this plumber?

"Yes, milady."

"Did he seduce you, Barrow?"

Thomas accepted that he had made an appalling blunder and was determined not to compound it by trying to deceive Lady Mary. "I'm sorry to tell Your Ladyship that seduce would not be a fair word as I was willing. I mean to say that I was willing to enjoy Hopwood's attentions, milady. I had no idea that he intended to inflate his bill."

"Then you were duped? This Hopwood person was stringing you along merely to take advantage?"

"Yes, milady."

Lady Mary regarded Thomas. He held his head high, but she could see his shame.

"I'm sorry to have to ask these questions, Barrow. I suppose this has been a most unpleasant discovery for you."

"Yes, milady."

"You exposed yourself to a terrible risk, Barrow. Frankly, I thought you were more astute than that."

"Yes, milady."

"I can't imagine how I would have explained it to Master George if you had been compromised and dragged off to jail. I'm sorry, Barrow. But that is the truth of the matter, isn't it? You take that risk whenever you engage in such behaviour."

Thomas did not respond.

"I'm sorry, Barrow, but Master George and I would be dreadfully sad if you ever had to face such a consequence."

Thomas fixed his eyes on the wall. "I understand, milady."

"Well Barrow, your explanation casts a different light on the matter, doesn't it?"

"That's not for me to say, milady."

"Well, I say it does. The question is, where do we go from here. I can see that you had no intention to cheat us. I trust you, Barrow. I don't know if I can trust your judgment. Do you understand my meaning?"

"Yes, milady."

"And then there's the matter of the money. Lord Grantham is livid. The fact of the matter is that you're competent, Barrow. You've managed well within a tighter budget than Carson ever had. And you've kept your promise to me about Carson. Mrs Hughes tells me that his sessions with you are the highlight of his week."

"Thank you, milady."

"You should have asked Carson for advice about engaging a new contractor. But that's not a concern. My concern is whether or not you are willing to stop putting yourself at risk when it comes to matters of the heart. This should be none of my business, Barrow, but in your case, it is. For the others in this house, an error in judgment means, at worst, a tear-stained pillow. For you ... well, we've already discussed the risk you take."

"Yes, milady."

"You were in service before the war, Barrow. You remember how it was."

"Milady?"

"A butler never thought of marriage before the war. He was married to his job. Are you willing to be married to your job, Barrow?"

So it had come to this. Lady Mary was asking Thomas to take a pledge of celibacy. Thomas felt as though he were in a dream.

Lady Mary watched Thomas carefully. "Is it too much to ask of you, Barrow?"

"No, milady. I'm willing to be married to my job."

"I'm truly sorry, Barrow."

"I know, milady."

"Then go about your work, Barrow, and know that your job is safe. Leave me the estimate. I'm going to talk to Mr Branson about the bill and how to handle Hopwood, but I will not put you at risk."

"Thank you, milady. You've been most generous." Thomas gave the estimate to Lady Mary and held himself high as he exited the library. As soon as he cleared the door, he ran to the servants' water closet where he retched until he was empty.


	18. A Matter of Convenience

**CHAPTER 18: A MATTER OF CONVENIENCE**

 **The next day**

 **The library**

"Well, Mr Wright, what is your conclusion?" Lady Mary asked the new plumber.

Wright had been highly recommended by Lady Merton (the former Mrs Crawley), and that was sufficient for Lady Mary. He was an older, thoughtful man who took pride in his work and his reputation. "The plumbing work is sound, milady. A man who can do sound work has no business cheating his customers!"

"So we've been cheated?"

"The tub is not the model on the bill, milady. You ordered a porcelain-enamelled Roman tub. Hopwood connected a cheap, steel-cased footed tub. You don't have to be a plumber to see the difference."

"That's easily remedied. What else?"

"I'm mystified by these expensive extras, milady. Water-velvetter, temperature-synchronizer, noise-disrupter, health-modulator. I telephoned my supplier to hear descriptions and ask prices, and he thought I was joking. There are no such fittings."

"I see. And if the tub were replaced with the correct model and the charges for the extras removed, would the price be reasonable?"

"Yes, milady. I would be happy to call this Hopwood to see if he has the Roman tub in stock. If he does, then I'll exchange it for you and take care of the installation. I won't bill you, milady. Men like this hurt my trade. I ask only that you allow me to prepare an estimate for you the next time you require plumbing services."

"That's generous of you, Mr Wright. Bates, please show Mr Wright to the phone. Then there's something I would like to discuss with you."

"Yes, milady." Bates had no idea why he had been summoned to hear Wright's assessment.

When Bates returned to the library, Lady Mary was smiling and shaking her head. "A water-velvetter? It's reassuring to know that men can have their heads turned as easily as women."

"Yes, milady."

"I assume that Thomas has confided in you about this Hopwood fiasco."

"I have an inkling, milady."

"I have an inkling as well, Bates."

"Yes, milady." Bates was surprised. Had Thomas confessed everything?

"I want Hopwood to correct the bill. It's not so much the money. I simply can't allow him to get away with it."

"Agreed, milady."

"I won't permit Barrow to involve himself further. It's too risky for him. Do you understand what I'm saying, Bates?"

"Yes, milady, I understand."

"Getting Hopwood to exchange the tub should be simple enough. Getting him to correct the bill is another matter. You're a clever man, Bates. I thought this would be right up your alley. What do you say, Bates?"

"I say what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, milady."

* * *

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Bates entered Thomas' pantry, closed the door, and stepped close to the desk. "Thomas, tell me something about Hopwood's appearance. Something intimate. Something a person wouldn't know unless he'd seen Hopwood undressed. A birthmark perhaps."

"What are you talking about?"

"Trust me, Thomas. There must be something you can tell me."

"Why?"

"You must trust me, Thomas. What do you remember?"

"He has twin moles. They mirror each other."

"What do they look like?"

"John, this is ridiculous."

"What do they look like, Thomas?"

"No!"

"Thomas, I'm only trying to help. You must tell me."

"Tell me what you're going to do, John."

Bates walked around the desk and grasped Thomas' chin, as was his habit. "Trust me, Thomas."

Thomas sighed. "They're round and flat and brown. This size." Thomas touched the tip of his small finger.

"Where are they?"

Thomas pointed to one side of his groin and then the other.

"That's all I need."

* * *

 **Hopwood Plumbing**

"I must see this man who stole our Barrow's heart," Lady Mary whispered to Bates as Wright held open the door to Hopwood's shop. Bates was thinking the same thing but would never say so.

The shop was more of a warehouse, tightly packed with samples. Wright walked to the man at the desk while Lady Mary and Bates remained close to the door. "Are you Mr Hopwood?"

"Guilty as charged." Hopwood smiled, displaying dimples on either side of his full lips. He had sandy, blond hair and bright blue eyes. He wasn't tall, but he was trim and stylishly dressed for a country plumber.

"Are you Mr Wright?" asked Hopwood. "I have the Roman tub ready to show you."

"Yes, I'm Wright. I didn't mention on the phone that I'm here on behalf of Lady Mary Talbot." Wright tilted his head toward Lady Mary. "You recently remodelled her bathroom."

"I see."

Wright pulled the bill from his pocket. "You billed Lady Mary for a Roman tub. If you look at my truck you'll see the tub you actually installed. It's the wrong model. My men will unload it and take the Roman tub now."

Hopwood walked to the window and looked at the truck. Then he turned to Lady Mary and smiled. "I do apologize, milady. Unfortunately, errors happen when one has an Irishman for an assistant."

Lady Mary stiffened. "I have a car waiting. After Mr Wright has traded tubs, my agent, Mr Bates, will speak with you on behalf of Lord Grantham about a related matter." Lady Mary turned to Bates. "Please come with me a moment, Bates."

Lady Mary and Bates stepped outside. Lady Mary turned to Bates. "He's attractive enough, but he doesn't hold a candle to Barrow." Bates had to agree, although he kept his opinion to himself. "Are you confident, Bates?" Bates nodded.

Henry Talbot and Tom were parked outside the shop and standing by Henry's car. Lady Mary kissed Henry. "Goodbye, darling. I'm off to the station now. I'll be back with Mama on Sunday. You'll wait here until Bates is ready to leave, won't you?"

Tom saluted. "Will do, general."

Bates waited until Wright left in his truck with his men and the Roman tub and stepped back inside the shop. Hopwood looked at Bates and then looked at his watch. "I can give you only a few minutes, Mr ... Bates, is it?"

"That's correct."

"I have some installations this afternoon to which I must attend."

Bates smiled. "I have no desire to delay you, Mr Hopwood."

"How may I help you, Mr Bates?"

"It seems there are some errors on the bill."

"It seems that you have made an error, Mr Bates. I check and double-check all my bills before submitting them, and I can assure you there was no error. I'm sorry that you've been waiting for nothing."

"You would do me a great favour, Mr Hopwood, if you would check the bill one more time. There are some items listed that were never delivered. Water-velvetter, temperature-synchronizer, noise-disrupter, and health-modulator. "

Hopwood smiled. "I understand the confusion, Mr Bates. These items are new in England, but they're all the rage in France. I import them; hence the high price."

"I beg your pardon, Mr Hopwood, but Mr Wright could find no evidence of such items when he examined the bathroom this morning."

"I'm certain Mr Wright is a fine plumber, Mr Bates, but he's behind the times. I doubt he'd recognize modern components. There is nothing more I can do for you, Mr Bates. I have a busy day and must ask you to be on your way."

"Of course, Mr Hopwood. There's only one more thing I'd like to discuss. Something minor."

"And what is that?"

Bates opened the shop door a few inches and spoke in a calm voice, "Help, police, help me! Mr Hopwood is assaulting me!"

Hopwood slammed the door shut. "Are you threatening me?"

"Threatening you? Why Mr Hopwood, I'm protecting myself from your advances. I came here, innocently, to have you correct Lord Grantham's bill. You asked me to wait while you fetched the order, and when you returned you were stark naked! You were far too quick for me. I'm a poor, helpless cripple, unable to run."

"Don't make me laugh. Who would believe such a ridiculous story?"

"Look out the window, Mr Hopwood. When I called for the police, Lord Grantham's two sons-in-law happened to be outside. They ran in and saw me fully clothed and you without a stitch ready to wrestle me to the ground. It was fortunate for me that I had my wits about me and my cane ready to strike. You're new to this area, Mr Hopwood. Lord Grantham's family is well-loved and trusted in this village."

Hopwood looked out the window, and Henry and Tom smiled and waved.

"And then there's the matter of twin moles." Bates pointed to each side of Hopwood's groin with the tip of his cane. "Twin moles, Mr Hopwood. A gypsy would say that it means you have two faces. How would I know about that charming pair unless I had seen them as you accosted me."

"Thomas Barrow told you about the moles. He came to my flat at night and seduced me! Are you willing to expose him?"

"Excuse me, Mr Hopwood, but you must be mistaken. Mr Barrow spends his evenings in the company of my wife and myself. He's a dear friend of my family and godfather to my son."

Hopwood cursed and walked to his desk. "I'll remove the water-velvetter, and Lord Grantham may take his future business to my competitors."

"Remove all four items, if you please."

"Two"

"Four."

"Mr Bates, do you know nothing of negotiation?"

"Mr Hopwood, do you know nothing of the punishment for the crime you attempted to commit against my person?

Hopwood stared at Bates a moment, plopped himself at his desk and wrote out a new bill. He handed the corrected bill to Bates.

Bates folded the corrected bill and tucked it into his coat pocket. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Hopwood. There is one small, additional matter."

"I've had enough of this." Hopwood stood and picked up the keys to his truck.

Bates stood in front of the shop door. "I'll be happy to leave, as long as I leave with a pair of gold cuff links."

"They were a gift!"

"When you tell a man you love him as a matter of convenience, then a gift becomes a theft." Bates stepped closer to Hopwood. "I must say, Mr Hopwood, that your twin moles are charming, but that nasty scar across your back is a shame."

"I don't have a scar on my back."

Bates pulled himself up to his full height, shouldered his cane, and smiled sweetly. "Not yet."

"Fine, I'll get them. Kindly remind Mr Barrow that I will not be doing business with him in the future."


	19. The Batman and Rose

**CHAPTER 19: THE BATMAN AND ROSE**

 **An hour later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Bates knocked and opened the pantry door. "Do you mind if I sit, Mr Barrow?"

"Of course not, Mr Bates."

Bates closed the door and sat heavily. He was tired, and his head hurt.

"Are you well, John? You look a little flushed."

"It's nothing. I'm getting a cold." Bates pulled an envelope from his pocket. "You may give this to Lord Grantham."

Thomas stepped around his desk and took the envelope. In it was the corrected bill.

"And I believe this is yours." Bates took a small box from his pocket and placed it in Thomas' hand. Thomas recognized the box and knew the cuff links were inside.

Thomas felt a wave of panic. "What did you do, John?"

Bates was irritated. He didn't need a thank you, but Thomas seemed upset. "No one was hurt, if that's your concern. Well, perhaps Hopwood's pride took a beating, but that's as it should be." Bates pulled out his handkerchief and coughed into it.

Thomas slipped the box and bill into his pocket and put his hand on Bates' forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"Do you have a headache, John?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"A sore throat?"

"Yes. It was all of a sudden."

"I don't believe you have a cold, John. I'll send for Dr Clarkson." Thomas took hold of Bates chin as Bates so often did to him. "It seems it's my turn to take care of you."

* * *

 **The Parlour**

Thomas found Lord Grantham in the parlour. "Pardon me, my Lord. May I have a moment?"

"What is it, Barrow?"

"I have a revised bill from the plumber." Thomas handed the bill to Lord Grantham.

Lord Grantham opened the envelope and examined the bill. "How did you convince Hopwood to change it, Barrow?"

"I didn't, my Lord. Mr Bates convinced him."

"Lady Mary told me that you had arranged a discount."

"Perhaps Lady Mary misunderstood.

"Perhaps."

"My Lord, Mr Bates has taken ill. I've put him in his old room. Dr Clarkson is with him now and says it's influenza."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Barrow. Wouldn't he be more comfortable at home?"

"Mr Bates doesn't want to infect the baby, my Lord."

"Yes, of course. Anna should leave the baby with Nanny for a few days. Then she could take care of Bates at home."

"I'm certain she would appreciate your generosity, my Lord, but ..."

"Yes?"

"Anna's still ..."

"What, Barrow? What's the problem?"

"She's still nursing, my Lord."

"Oh."

"The thing is, my Lord, Mr Bates has quite a high fever, and Dr Clarkson recommends that someone stay with him for now. If Your Lordship will recall, I have hospital experience."

"So you want to abandon us for Bates, is that it?"

"If Your Lordship doesn't object, perhaps Mr Carson would step in for a couple of days. Andrew could do all the serving and attend to Your Lordship. We're not expecting guests, and Lady Grantham is in London."

"You seem to have everything in order, Barrow. I leave it to your judgment."

"Then if Your Lordship will excuse me."

"Just a moment Barrow. I want to speak to you."

"Certainly, my Lord."

Lord Grantham held up the bill. "So, Bates came to your rescue."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I understand from Lady Mary that you were responsible for the plumbing debacle but that you had no malicious intent. Did she misunderstand about that as well, Barrow?"

"No, my Lord."

"Good." Lord Grantham regarded Thomas for a moment. "It appears, Barrow, that Bates has taken you under his wing. Is that true?"

"He wants me to succeed at my job, my Lord. He's older and more experienced and offers me advice."

Lord Grantham chuckled. "Advice. That's a bit tame for Bates. He and I go back a long way, Barrow. Are you aware that he was my batman years ago?"

"Yes, my Lord, in South Africa."

"That's right." Lord Grantham gazed out the window. "He was a striking young man in those days and turned quite a few heads." Lord Grantham chuckled. "We both did. That was before Bates was wounded, of course. He was an intelligent, likable fellow, but he was proud and headstrong. He hadn't acquired the humility that marks him as the man he is today." Lord Grantham looked at Thomas. "I'm older than Bates, but I was an inexperienced officer when he was assigned to me. I liked him right off, but within a few days, he knew my business better than I did and had no qualms about letting me know. By the end of the first month, I wasn't sure which of us was the officer and which of us was the batman. Do you know why I'm telling you this, Barrow?"

"No, my Lord."

"I had to set him straight, Barrow. It hurt his dignity a bit, but we got past it. It will be easier for you."

"My Lord?"

"I was his superior officer. You're his friend. He'll take it better from you."

"I don't understand, my Lord."

"I think you do, Barrow. You can't let him railroad you just because he likes you and thinks he knows what's best for you. You'll come to resent him, and it will be the end of your friendship. And he's a friend worth having, am I right, Barrow?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Think about it, Barrow. That's all I ask. You'd better go, now, or Dr Clarkson's bill will be worse than the plumber's."

* * *

 **That evening**

 **Outside the Abbey**

Bates was napping on a bench. It was a clear day, and when he opened his eyes, he was stunned by the beauty of the Abbey grounds in bloom. He saw a woman on the path who seemed to float towards him. Her dark hair was loose, and she was wearing an old-fashioned tea gown. As she approached, Bates recognized her. He waved, and the woman laughed and waved back. "You're the woman in the photograph. You're Thomas' mother."

The woman smiled and Bates could feel her warmth enveloping him. "So, you know who I am. Who are you?"

"I'm John Bates."

"Bates. Bates and Anna. My son harmed you and your wife."

"That was a long time ago, Mrs Barrow. We're friends now."

"You must call me Rose, and I will call you John."

"Rose is a lovely name."

"I agree. That's why I chose it." Rose laughed. She had the most charming laugh that Bates had ever heard. "My parents named me Agnes. That's an ugly name. It sounds like gagging. Ag-g-g-g-nes." She laughed again, and Bates laughed too.

"What may I do for you, Rose?"

"I want to know if my son has found a purpose for his life."

"Don't you know? I thought you'd be looking down on him from Heaven."

"John, I'm surprised. Do you believe that old wives' tale?"

"Is that what it is?"

"I can't follow what's happening in England when I look down from Heaven, John. Too much weather. Now Yuma is another matter."

"Yuma?"

"In the States. Arizona. Now that's a sunny spot. Do you know what's happening in Yuma, John?"

"What?"

"Absolutely nothing!" Rose laughed at her little joke. Whenever Rose laugh, Bates found himself laughing, too.

"We were hoping to get a wireless up there," Rose looked up at the skies, "so each of us could hear the news from home. But you know how it is in Heaven. All it takes is one person to say, _It's an instrument of the devil_ , and there's an end to the matter."

"That's a shame, Rose."

"You said that Thomas and you are friends now."

"Yes. He's friends with my wife, too, and he's godfather to our son."

"Godfather! That's fine. Then I give you my son, John."

"What?"

"I can't help him in your world, John. I need a proxy."

"I can't be his mother."

"He doesn't need a mother. He needs someone to love him. Do you love him, John?"

"What?"

"Do you love him?"

"I don't know what you mean.

"Do you love Thomas?

"I don't know what you're asking me."

"It's a simple question, John. Do you love Thomas?"

"I can't answer that question."

"This is getting us nowhere, John. I'd forgotten that you're British."

"I'm sorry, Rose."

"There's no need for us to give up the ghost, John, if you'll pardon the expression. Tell me, John, do you care what happens to Thomas?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you want him to have a meaningful life?"

"Yes."

"Do you enjoy his company?"

"Yes."

"Do you miss him when he's not around?"

"Well, I ..."

"What's that, John?"

"Yes, I miss him when he's not around."

"When he's sad, does it make you ache?"

"How did you know?"

"Because I love him, too. He's yours now, John. He's your mission. Help him find his place in life."

"I don't know how, Rose."

"You'll figure it out, John. You won't be sorry, you know. He'll take care of you and yours until the end of his days."

"Will he?"

"Perhaps you haven't seen it yet, but Thomas is a sweet lad. When he was three, I complained about how much I missed flowers during the winter. I was working on the books for the shop, and he dragged me into the kitchen. He had lined up all the cutlery on the floor, side-by-side, and placed a lump of coal at the top of each piece. He jumped up and down and shouted, _Look, Mummy, flowers!_ " Rose laughed. "What a mess. Coal dust everywhere. But he was happy because he'd made me smile."

"That's a charming story, Rose."

"Thomas told me that he hasn't been a kind man, but he was a kind child, John."

"He wasn't a kind man. But when you visited him ... it ..."

"Yes, John?"

"I don't know ... it opened him up somehow. It unlocked his heart."

"That's a lovely thing to say, John. Now ... Let's race to that tree."

"What?"

"Are you afraid I'll win?"

"I can't, Rose. I walk with a cane."

Rose laughed. "You don't need a cane when you're with me, John. Get up and run!"

John stood and took a step. Then he took a few more steps. He trotted. He ran. He jumped over a tree stump. He jumped over a bench. He jumped over a fence, but his shoe caught, and he tumbled over.

"John! What happened?" Bates was hanging half off the bed. He would have fallen on his head if his legs had not been tangled in the bedding. Thomas rushed to help him.

"Did you see me, Thomas? Did you see how fast I was running? Did you see me sail over that bench?"

"I saw you all right." Thomas smiled and untangled the bedding." You were dreaming, John."

"Was I?" Bates settled back on the pillow, and Thomas pulled up the covers. "Thomas, what was your mother's name?"

"Agnes. Don't you remember? I told you how she hated it."

Bates closed his eyes. He wanted to fall asleep and see Rose again so he could laugh and run and sail over benches. He wanted to tell her that he did love her son but that he could not say so because Thomas was _that way_ , and he was not.


	20. The Space To Be Sad

**CHAPTER 20: THE SPACE TO BE SAD**

 **That night**

 **John Bates' Old Room**

Thomas did what he could to make Bates comfortable during those first hours of confinement. When Bates shivered, Thomas piled on blankets and served him hot bowls of Mrs Patmore's restorative broth. When Bates said the lamp hurt his eyes, Thomas set it on the floor and tilted the shade away from the bed. He regularly checked Bates' temperature, respiration, and pulse and wrote it all down for Dr Clarkson. Thomas gave Bates aspirin every four hours, but he wouldn't allow cough syrup because it was laced with alcohol. Dr Clarkson didn't believe syrups were effective anyway.

Bates slept fitfully. Thomas made up the second bed in the room for himself. No sooner would he doze off, than Bates would cough or groan or mumble in his sleep. Thomas would jump out of bed and check for any sign of distress. At one point, Bates was overcome with a fit of coughing. Thomas brought him a glass of water, but that didn't help. He had Bates sit up, but that didn't help. Bates leaned against Thomas and coughed into his handkerchief until his ribs ached. Thomas rubbed Bates' back all the while because there was nothing else for him to do. He hated feeling helpless.

When the cough subsided, Thomas went back to sleep only to be awakened by the sound of Bates muttering. He forced himself out of bed again and stumbled to Bates, who was curled on his side and crying in his sleep. Thomas tried to wake him, but Bates would not rouse and only became more upset. He mumbled, "Don't leave me, Anna."

Thomas could not bear to see Bates cry even if it was only a dream. He knelt next to the bed and soothed, "I'm here, John. I won't leave you." He stroked Bates' hair. "That's right, darling. I'm here." Bates quieted. Thomas kissed Bates gently on his bristled cheek. Immediately, he realized what he had done and fled to the other bed. He had crossed a line. What was _wrong_ with him? If Bates had awakened, a little kiss like that might have cost Thomas his friendship. He was going to have to be more disciplined.

In the morning, Thomas dragged himself out of bed and found Bates sleeping soundly. He changed out of his pyjamas and was half-dressed when he heard a knock at the door. Thomas opened the door expecting Andy, but it was Anna carrying the breakfast tray. He closed the door to a crack and scolded, "Anna, what are you doing on the men's side? I'm not dressed."

"I'm sorry, Mr Barrow, but I want to see my husband."

"Wait here a moment." Thomas put on his robe and opened the door to accept the tray. "Anna, you know you shouldn't come here while he has a fever. You might give it to Timothy. Besides, he's asleep."

Anna peeked around the door and saw Bates sleeping. "Is he warm enough?"

"Yes, Anna."

"Did you check his temperature?"

"Wait here." Thomas retrieved the paper on which he recorded Bates' vital signs and aspirin doses and showed it to Anna. "See for yourself."

Anna looked at the paper and looked at Thomas. "Thank you, Mr Barrow." She stood on tiptoe, gave Thomas a quick kiss on the cheek, and forced herself down the stairs.

When Andy brought the lunch tray, Thomas found a folded note with "John" written on the outside. Bates recognised the handwriting and smiled. "It's from Anna."

"Certainly it is. I'm jealous, John. I haven't received a love note since I was nineteen."

"Then you'll be wanting this." Inside the note was a second folded paper addressed to Thomas.

Thomas opened the note expecting instructions from Anna on the care and feeding of her husband.

* * *

 _Dear Thomas,_

 _Thank you for taking such good care of our John. You are a darling. You haven't been to the cottage in a few weeks, and I miss our good times together. I hope you will visit us just as soon as John is well. I want Timothy to know his Uncle Thomas._

 _Don't forget that you promised to teach me the Charleston!_

 _Your loving friend,  
_ _Anna_ _  
_

* * *

Thomas smiled. He carefully folded the note, and put it in his pocket. Bates looked up from his own note. "Are you going to tell me what it says?"

"Are you going to tell me what yours says?" countered Thomas.

Bates laughed weakly, "Oh no!" He tucked the note under his pillow.

That afternoon, Bates' fever broke. Then he began to sweat. Thomas removed the blankets and sponged Bates face and arms and chest. He brought Bates glass after glass of water. Bates felt grimy and stiff and wanted a bath. "Not yet, John. You'll get dizzy and fall. Tomorrow, perhaps." Bates grumbled, but Thomas was firm. Thomas sympathised with Bates; he had a fastidious nature himself. "I can give you a sponge bath, John, if you're comfortable with that."

"I don't want to cause you embarrassment."

"I wouldn't be embarrassed, John. I did it sometimes at the hospital. We never had enough nurses. Of course, I'm no Mrs Crawley."

Bates chuckled. "I'd be grateful."

"I'll be back in a few minutes." Thomas did not want to leave Bates unattended for too long. He hurried downstairs and collected a number of towels and fresh bedding. Then he returned to the attic and filled a basin with hot water.

When Thomas returned to the room, Bates was standing and leaning over the bed. "John, get back into bed!"

"I'm trying."

"Wait. You can sit while I ready the bed." Bates sat in the chair while Thomas changed the bedding. Thomas carefully gathered all of Anna's notes that Bates had collected under his pillow and tucked them into the bag Anna had brought from the cottage.

"Why were you out of bed?"

"I just wanted to stretch my legs. Don't be cross with me."

Thomas paused and smiled. "I'm not cross, John. But it made you dizzy, admit it."

"Yes, I admit it."

"You could have fallen, and then Anna would have had my hide!"

Thomas spread a towel over the bed and wrapped a second towel around the pillow. He unbuttoned Bates' pyjamas. "It's easier to undress you while you're standing." Bates stood, and Thomas undressed him quickly, helped him back into bed, and covered him with a fresh sheet. He took a clean flannel from Bates' bag and checked the temperature of the water. He bathed Bates bit by bit, uncovering, bathing, patting dry, and covering as he went to prevent a chill. He tried not to enjoy the intimacy of the task. He had too much respect for Bates to permit himself to take advantage of the situation.

Bates watched Thomas as he worked. There was a tenderness about him that Bates had never noticed before. As he watched, he could imagine the sweet boy that Rose had described. If Bates had to choose between being bathed by Mrs Crawley or by Thomas, he would choose Thomas. He laughed to himself.

"What's funny? Are you ticklish?"

"No, but I'm sleepy. I can't imagine why. I've slept enough for a month."

"Your body's working to recover, John, that's why. Close your eyes and sleep. I'm almost done."

Bates closed his eyes and felt himself drifting. At some point, he opened his eyes to find that Thomas had dressed him in fresh pyjamas and was buttoning the top. Bates murmured, "You'll take care of me and mine until the end of your days."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "What an odd thing to say." He buttoned the last button. _But I will, if you'll let me_ , he thought to himself as he patted Bates on the chest.

Bates closed his eyes, rolled over, and slept soundly. When he awoke, it was dark outside. The towels were gone, and Thomas had arranged a small table and two chairs for dinner.

Thomas was helping Bates into a robe when Andy knocked at the door. "Lamb stew from Mrs Patmore, and flowers from Anna," he announced, grinning.

Thomas accepted the tray. "You look like the cat that got the cream. Do you have something to tell us?"

Andy produced two envelopes from his pocket and handed one to Bates and one to Thomas.

"Is this what I think it is?" Bates asked.

"They're invitations to our wedding, Mr Bates! Daisy said we're supposed to mail them, but I couldn't wait!"

Thomas and Bates laughed. Thomas shook Andy's hand. "Congratulations, Andy. I hope Daisy knows how lucky she is."

"I'm the lucky one, Mr Barrow!"

Bates gave Andy a warm handshake. "I wish you two a long and happy life together. Will you live at Yew Tree Farm?"

"Yes, and I can't wait!"

"According to this invitation, you'll have to wait until May 12th." Thomas waggled his finger at Andy. "No cheating now, Andy!"

"Oh, I would never cheat, Mr Barrow," Andy replied solemnly.

Thomas laughed. "Get on with your work now, Andy, and take this laundry downstairs. Mr Carson has enough to worry about without you dawdling about up here. Be sure to give our congratulations to Daisy."

"Yes, Mr Barrow." Andy grabbed the laundry and ran down the stairs yelling, "I'm getting married, and I CAN'T WAIT!"

Thomas and Bates laughed. Thomas ladled a dish of stew. "I can just picture them," Thomas mused. "Daisy cooking up the harvest in the kitchen, and Andy working the farm with old Mr Mason, surrounded by a dozen of their children." Bates chuckled.

Bates was recovering now, and Thomas would have no reason to be confined with him come morning. Perhaps this would be the right time to take up Lord Grantham's advice. Thomas set the dish in front of Bates. "John, may I ask you something?

"All right."

"Why do you call me little brother?"

Bates shrugged. "I like having a little brother. Someone to look up to me."

Thomas spoke softly. "You have a son for that now."

"Someone to share with, then."

"You have a wife for that."

"I like you, damn it, and I like having male companionship! Is that such a crime?"

"Not at all. And I do look up to you, John."

"If you don't want me to call you little brother, then I'll stop."

"I don't want you to stop, John. I like it."

Bates looked at Thomas. "If something's on your mind, Thomas, then speak plainly."

Thomas set a dish of stew on the table for himself and sat next to Bates. "John, being a little brother isn't the same as being a little boy. I'm the butler of Downton Abbey. I need your respect."

"You have that!"

"Do I, John? You didn't ask me if you could help with Hopwood. You told me."

"You needed help!"

"That was for me to decide. John, I must be responsible for my own life, even if I make mistakes. I'm not a puppy dog."

"A puppy dog! So, it's as bad as that. I'm a bully, am I?"

"Sometimes ... yes." Thomas could see that he had hurt Bates' feelings.

Bates absently pushed the stew about on his plate with a fork. "Anything else?"

Thomas wondered if he should finish what he had started. "There is something else, John."

Bates' jaw tightened. "Oh?"

"You can't bear to see other people unhappy."

Bates sat back in his seat. "And what's wrong with that?" he demanded.

Thomas was uncertain how to explain. "Sometimes, John, I need the space to be sad. I ... I don't know how to say it."

"Try."

"I have to live through sadness, John, or ... or I can't get to the other side."

"The other side?"

"The happier side. You have to allow me to be sad, John."

Bates sighed. "You make it sound easy, Thomas."

"Isn't it?"

Bates looked at Thomas. "No, little brother, it's not. When I know you're in pain, all I can see is you on your bed after you cut your wrists. I'll never forget the way you looked up at me that day. I had never seen you ... vulnerable like that. We didn't care a fig for each other back then, you and I, but when I saw the desperation in your eyes ... I needed to protect you. I needed to rescue you."

"You did rescue me, John. I don't know if I could have made it through that first week without you. But now, you won't let go.

"How do I know you won't try it again?"

"John, I promised you. What more can I do?"

"A desperate man may not be able to remember a promise. When you're sad, it terrifies me," Bates confessed. "I'm afraid you'll lock yourself back in that shell of yours, and I won't be able to pull you out again."

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't realize that's how it's been for you."

"That's how it's been."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"John, can't you trust me to take charge of my own life?"

"I ... yes ... yes, certainly, Thomas, I trust you."

"Can you give me the space to be sad?"

Thomas could see how difficult that question was for Bates. "All right, little brother. I'll try." Bates patted Thomas' hand.

"Your plate's cold." Thomas ladled a fresh dish for Bates. Bates picked up his fork but didn't eat.

"No appetite, John?"

Bates shook his head and pushed the plate away.

"You're not hungry because you haven't been eating. Take two bites now and you'll feel hungrier tomorrow."

"I can't, Thomas. I tried."

"Yes, you can." Thomas pushed the plate to Bates. "Take two bites for your little brother," he teased.

Bates looked at his plate and looked at Thomas. He reached out and tousled Thomas' hair.

Thomas protested, "Don't do that!" but he was laughing.

Bates picked up his fork and forced down two bites for his little brother.


	21. A Member of the Family

**CHAPTER 21: A MEMBER OF THE FAMILY**

 **Early morning, three days later**

 **John Bates' Old Room**

Thomas escorted Dr Clarkson to the attic where the doctor confirmed that Bates was no longer contagious. "I suppose you'll be happy to return to your wife and baby, Mr Bates."

"I'll be pleased to accept my marching orders, Dr Clarkson."

"You're still recovering, Mr Bates. Take it easy for a day or two." Dr Clarkson turned to Thomas. "Mr Barrow, he's not to return to work until the day after tomorrow."

"I understand," replied Thomas.

As Dr Clarkson prepared to leave, Andy appeared and handed a newspaper to Bates. "Lady Mary said to give this to you, Mr Bates."

"Thank you, Andrew. Please escort Dr Clarkson to the front door."

Bates sat to read the item Lady Mary had circled while Thomas stripped the beds. "What is it, John? Some extravagant dress that Lady Mary wants Anna to copy on the cheap?"

"No, nothing like that." Bates read the item to himself.

* * *

 _SAD FATALITY AT DOWNTON—Baird Hopwood, Master Plumber, died on Friday evening at Downton Village Cottage Hospital as the result of an accident he suffered in the course of his work earlier in the month. On Tuesday, March 16, about 1:30, deceased showed his assistant, James Martin Walsh, a cut on his right hand between his thumb and forefinger that he had acquired while cutting pipe. Mr Walsh said he dressed the wound with bandages from the first-aid box. Deceased took aspirin and continued to work as he thought the cut was minor. Dr Richard Clarkson said deceased was admitted on March 23 and died on the 25th, death being due to a septic hand complicated by tetanus and asphyxia, due to tetanic spasm.  
Deceased had moved to Downton recently from Wetherby after purchasing the plumbing business of Sydney Gordon. He had expected to be joined soon by his wife, Mary Ann Hopwood, who remained with her sister in Wetherby awaiting the birth of their third child. Mrs Hopwood reported that deceased was well-known in Wetherby where they had resided for some time. Deceased took considerable interest in the Church and Sunday School and often read lessons in the Church. He was of great assistance to the Vicar, Rev. H. Williams, who expressed sympathy for Mrs Hopwood and the family._

* * *

Bates set down the paper and regarded Thomas for a moment. Then he stood and closed the door.

"What was it?"

"You'd better read it, Thomas."

Thomas took the newspaper and read the obituary. He tossed the paper on the table without looking at Bates. "I remember the bandage. It was a small cut ... nothing really." His voice was flat. He turned his back to Bates and began to pack Bates' bag.

Bates stepped behind Thomas, and Thomas could feel his nearness.

"Thomas..."

Thomas didn't respond.

"Thomas, please turn around."

Thomas hesitated. "John, don't."

"If I allow you to feel sad, will you allow me to hold my little brother?" Bates placed his hands on Thomas' arms.

"John I didn't know he was married."

"I know you didn't."

Thomas turned and accepted Bates' protective embrace. He clung to Bates and cried. He cried because he had loved Hopwood, he cried because Hopwood had been a monster, and he cried because Hopwood was dead. He cried until he had no tears left. "I'll send the cuff links to his wife. She can sell them."

"You know best, little brother."

"I'll write a note saying they were found when the flat was cleaned. I don't have to sign my name."

"That's right."

Imagine, John, three children! How awful for them."

"It is awful."

Bates did not release Thomas, and Thomas allowed him to hold the world at bay for a bit longer. "I won't cry again for that bastard."

"Good."

* * *

 **Noon that same day**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Bates was resting in his chair when Anna arrived home, carrying Timothy and lugging a hamper.

"There's my darling boy!" It had been only five days, but Bates could see immediately that Timothy had grown. Anna settled Timothy onto his lap. "Do you have kisses for Daddy? Daddy has kisses for you!" He held up Timothy and kissed his cheeks and his belly. Timothy smiled and made noises and grasped Bates' ear. "Does Mummy have kisses for Daddy?"

"I've been saving them up for five days!" Anna kissed Bates affectionately. "That's all now until you've eaten."

"I'm starving!"

"Thomas told Mrs Patmore that you had lost weight while you were sick and asked her to fatten you up." Anna unpacked the hamper and laughed. "I see she intends to fatten you up with one meal. Look at all the goodies she sent!"

Bates held Timothy while he and Anna feasted on pork pies, scotch eggs, cheese, and pickles. "Do you have to rush back to the house, Anna?"

"No. Lady Mary said I may take off the entire afternoon to get you settled. I don't need to be back until the gong. Let's save the sweets and have low tea this afternoon, same as the family."

After they had eaten their fill, Anna picked up Timothy, sat in her chair, and nursed him. Bates gazed at them happily. "How I missed this." He stretched out his legs.

"Are you returning to work tomorrow, John?"

"No. Dr Clarkson insists that I wait another day, although I hate to leave Thomas short-handed. I've inconvenienced him enough already."

"Thomas won't go against Dr Clarkson's orders, John, and neither should you."

"No, I suppose not. Anna ..."

"Hmm?"

"Thomas enjoyed receiving your little notes."

"He took care of you when I couldn't. How could I send you notes and not include him?"

"It was kind of you, Anna. He's not used to being included. It meant a great deal to him."

"I'm glad. I saw Thomas before I left the house, John. He seemed exhausted. I think he could use a little fattening up himself."

"He's had a bad time recently.

What sort of bad time?"

"It's enough to say that he's had his heart broken."

"What do you mean, John?"

"Thomas fell in love with a scoundrel who treated him badly."

Anna was surprised. "Thomas fell in love with another man? That's not possible."

"What do you mean?"

"John, you know two men can't love each other the way we do."

Bates was shocked. "Anna, do you believe that Thomas isn't capable of love?"

"Of course he's capable of love, John. It's plain that he loves Timothy. I believe he loves us, too."

"He does love us."

"But to say that two men can love each other as you and I love each other ... the love between a husband and wife is a sacred thing, John."

Bates stared at Anna in disbelief. "Yes, Anna, it is a sacred thing. But it's not the only love that's sacred. What do you think it is when two men, two Thomases, have feelings for each other?"

Anna couldn't understand her husband's confusion. "It's ... _physical_ , John. They don't love each other the way we do."

Bates leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his legs. "Anna, you shock me. You're horribly mistaken. Thomas loved this man, and now he's heartbroken. I won't have you dismiss his feelings."

Anna could see that she had disappointed her husband. "I suppose I'm old-fashioned, John. I've never really thought about it. Do you truly believe that Thomas was in love?"

"I know he was. I saw it."

Anna considered the possibility. Timothy had finished nursing and had fallen asleep. "I'm sorry, John. If that's what you saw, then that's what it was. It makes me sad to think that Thomas is suffering. Is there something we can do for him?"

That was his Anna. Bates leaned back in his chair. "I don't know." He shut his eyes. He was tired.

Anna refastened her clothing. "The two of you have eaten yourselves into oblivion." She placed Timothy in his cradle and sat on Bates' lap. "I'm so glad you're home."

"I'm so glad to be home. Thomas is good company, but I'd much rather have you on my lap."

Anna laughed, and Bates nuzzled her neck. If only he weren't so tired ... "Anna ...?"

"Yes?"

"If I had a brother, he would be a member of this family, wouldn't he?"

"Certainly."

"But my parents didn't give me a brother."

"No, they didn't."

"Anna, I've come to think of Thomas as my brother."

"I know."

"I mean truly, as my brother."

"I know."

"I want him to be a member of this family."

Anna laughed. "He is a member of this family."

"Thank you, my darling." Bates gave Anna a squeeze. "If anything were to happen to me, he would take care of you and Timothy."

"I know, John, but nothing's going to happen to you."

"Probably not."

"John, I'm sorry for what I said about Thomas."

"I know." Bates began to pull the pins from Anna's hair.

"John, you couldn't have waited until tonight? Now I'll have to put it up all over again!"

"I've waited five days for this."

"You devil."

Bates ran his fingers through Anna's loose hair. "Anna, I want to give Thomas a key to the cottage."

"Where will he sleep? In the cupboard?"

"Not to live, but to know he has a place he's always welcome."

"I know. I was teasing."

Bates wrapped a lock of Anna's hair around his finger. "Anna, do you think I'm being foolish?"

"Why is it foolish to give a key to a member of the family?"

Bates tilted Anna's face up and gave her a long kiss. Perhaps he wasn't as tired as he had thought.


	22. Guinea Pigs

**CHAPTER 22: GUINEA PIGS**

 **The next evening**

 **The Dining Room**

It was almost time for the pork course. Thomas approached Lord Grantham with a decanter. He spoke softly so as not to attract attention. "Perhaps Your Lordship would care to taste the wine for the next course."

Lord Grantham was surprised. "You know I trust Carson's selections, Barrow."

"Yes, my Lord, but I selected this wine."

"Without Carson's approval?" Thomas nodded. "You're a brave man, Barrow." Lord Grantham laughed heartily, which caused the others at the table to look his way. The Dowager and Lord and Lady Merton had joined the rest of the family for dinner. Mrs Crawley had been Lady Merton for several months now, but rarely did anyone remember to call her Lady Merton, and she never took offence.

Lord Grantham tapped the table. "Don't dawdle, man. Give me a taste and let's see how you did."

Thomas poured a small amount of the Merlot he had selected into Lord Grantham's glass. He stood erect and exhibited his calmest butler manner while he waited for Lord Grantham's verdict. The truth was, without Carson's assurance, he had no idea if he had made a sound choice or not.

"Barrow, did Carson offer you no help at all?"

"No, my Lord. I purchased an additional bottle on my own to thank Mr Carson for his help while Mr Bates was indisposed. I wanted Your Lordship's opinion before I gave it to him."

Lady Merton was charmed by innocence of Barrow's remark. "How delightful. Cousin Robert's to be Barrow's guinea pig!" Everyone broke out laughing at the thought of Lord Grantham being Carson's taster. Even the Dowager's mouth threatened to turn up a bit at the corners.

Thomas thought he was the butt of the joke and tried to save himself. "Your Lordship is the only person I know whose knowledge of wine is as sophisticated as Mr Carson's."

"You're a diplomat, Barrow, as well as a scientist," observed the Dowager. A fresh wave of laughter burst from the family.

"You did well, Barrow," proclaimed Lord Grantham. "You may serve the wine. It should pair nicely with roast pork. We'll all be guinea pigs tonight."

Barrow worked his way around the table pouring from the decanter. He was buoyed by Lord Grantham's approval.

"You know, Barrow, after the first few weeks, Carson told me that he wasn't sure you had the palate for wines. How did he manage to develop it?"

Thomas outlined a little of Carson's detailed curriculum. He explained how Carson would present him with a tray of fruits and spices and even flowers along with a wine to help him identify its aromas and flavours. "Mr Carson even put pieces of oak and cedar on the tray. I was afraid he was going to ask me to eat them, my Lord." More laughter arose from the table, but Thomas was beginning to enjoy having an audience.

Lord Grantham was fascinated. "What did he have you do with them?"

"He burned them a bit and had me sniff them."

"How clever!" Lord Grantham turned to the family and explained that he had given Carson free reign to select wines and whatever else he needed for the benefit of Thomas' education.

The Dowager set down her fork. "Do you mean to say that we are suppliers for the Carson School for Hopeful Sommeliers?"

"That is what I mean to say, Mama," replied Lord Grantham.

The Dowager picked up her fork. "You must tell me when we agree to supply cadavers to King's College Medical School so I know when to take the next cruise to the continent!"

* * *

 **The next afternoon**

 **The Carson Cottage**

"Charlie, Mr Barrow is here to see you." It was Mrs Hughes' half day, and Thomas had accompanied her home.

"This is a surprise, Mr Barrow. How can I be of service?"

"You've been of service already, Mr Carson. I brought this to thank you for your help while Mr Bates was ill." Thomas handed a bottle of Merlot to Carson.

"Well, now, what's this?" Mr Carson read the label carefully. "Shall I open it now?"

"Oh, no, Mr Carson. Save it for your dinner. It should go well with chicken, pork, or beef, I think. Not with fish, though. I hope you and Mrs Hughes enjoy it."

"This is your first solo selection, Mr Barrow. I look forward to it. Won't you sit down?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't stay. We don't have much wiggle room these days, Mr Carson."

"I could see how it was last week. The family's truly reined in the budget. I must say, Mr Barrow, I was impressed with your organization. Mrs Hughes showed me your cooperative duties chart that merges your two staffs. I could see that the two of you get more done with fewer hands. I also saw your correspondence with other butlers and housekeepers asking how they cut costs. I never would have dared to do such a thing, but some of the suggestions you received were indeed clever and practical."

Thomas was there to deliver his thank you. He had not anticipated compliments. "That means a great deal coming from you, Mr Carson."

Carson smiled. "Don't you think it's time we were Thomas, Charlie, and Elsie, at least in this house?"

Thomas was silent.

Carson was disappointed. "Perhaps you're not comfortable with that."

"You and Mrs Hughes are welcome to call me Thomas whenever you like, but I could never call you by your given names. It would be like calling my parents, Jack and Agnes." And with that Thomas donned his hat and fled back to the Abbey.


	23. The Itch

**CHAPTER 23: THE ITCH**

 **Early the next morning**

 **The Servants' Hall**

Bates arrived early on his first morning back to work and found Thomas sitting alone in the servants' hall. He knew that Thomas would be giving the newspaper a quick glance for anything that might affect the family. Thomas liked to be prepared.

When Bates stepped into the hall, Thomas leaned back in his chair and gave him the once-over. "Are you up to snuff, Mr Bates?"

"That I am, Mr Barrow."

Bates had walked to the village the day before when he was supposed to be resting and purchased a duplicate key to the cottage. Now he handed the duplicate to Thomas. "This is for you. It's to the cottage."

"In case of emergency?"

Bates lowered his voice. "No, little brother. Anna and I want you to know that you're always welcome in our home. _Always_."

Thomas turned over the key in his hand. He pulled one end of the double Albert chain from his waistcoat pocket, unclipped his pen knife, and replaced it with the key. "We should get on with it, don't you think, Mr Bates."

"I do, Mr Barrow."

Thomas stood, slipped on his coat, and headed for his pantry. He stopped and turned to Bates. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again.

Bates smiled. "You're welcome, Mr Barrow."

Thomas nodded, turned, and began his day.

* * *

 **That Friday**

It was not long before Thomas had good use for the new key in his possession. During their morning meeting in the library, Lord Grantham asked Thomas if he had any use for the sofa and chairs in the drawing room. Lady Grantham was replacing them. "She says they're drab and impersonal. It seems only yesterday that she said they gave the room warmth and character!"

"We could use the chairs in the servants' hall, but with Your Lordship's permission, I'd like to give the sofa to Mr and Mrs Bates. They have some chairs, but a husband and wife should be able to sit side-by-side in the evening in their own home."

"Why, Barrow, you're a romantic! Certainly they may have the sofa."

Thomas wanted the sofa to be a surprise, and Lord Grantham gave his word not to spoil it.

Andy asked Mr Mason for the loan of the second-hand truck he had purchased recently. Andy and Mr Mason had spent one harrowing morning learning to drive the monstrosity by trial and error. Fortunately, Mr Branson got wind of it and gave them a lesson.

Thomas delivered an excessive number of shoes and other items needing repair to the boot room so that Bates and Anna would be detained there, and Baxter promised to keep an eye out in case they strayed. Thomas, Andy, and Billy, the hall boy, tied canvas around the sofa to keep it clean and loaded it onto the truck. The three of them drove merrily to the cottage where Thomas opened the door with his key.

"There's no room for it," declared Billy.

"Of course there is." Thomas had already planned where he was going to move the furniture, and the three of them executed his new arrangement with dispatch.

"It's smashing," observed Andy once the sofa was in place and unwrapped. "They're going to love it, Mr Barrow."

* * *

 **That night**

When Bates and Anna arrived home with Timothy, they thought they had stepped into the wrong cottage.

"It's the sofa from the drawing room!" Anna gasped. "Lady Grantham is making some changes, but ... how did it get here?"

"How do you think?" Bates was delighted. He sat in the centre of the sofa and spread his arms across the back. "This is Thomas' doing!"

"Look, Timothy. It's the emperor on his peacock throne."

"It could be the emperor and the empress." Bates patted the cushion next to him.

Anna handed Timothy to Bates and sat gingerly. She stroked the sofa's fine fabric.

Bates sat Timothy on his lap and kissed his cheek. "The emperor, the empress, and the heir to the throne."

* * *

 **That Sunday**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Thomas and Bates walked to the cottage together to enjoy Sunday dinner with Anna and Timothy who were waiting there. At Anna's insistence, Thomas was arriving empty-handed, although he felt it was unfair that he not contribute something to the meal.

Anna was sitting on the sofa and draped herself with a shawl when the pair arrived. As always, Thomas ignored Anna's suitcase by the door. He knew why it was there and thought it unwise to comment. He walked straight to the cradle, but it was empty. He looked about the room, but there was no Timothy. "Where's the baby?"

Anna smiled. "He's under the shawl, silly."

"Are you playing a game?"

Bates laughed, hooked his arm around Thomas' neck, and pulled him to the door. "Let's go outside for a bit."

"Why?"

Bates pulled Thomas out the door. "Let's sit on the bench."

"Did I do something wrong?"

Bates laughed again. "No, little brother. Anna's nursing. We'll give her a little privacy."

Thomas felt foolish. How could he not have realized? Anna and Bates must have thought him an oaf. He followed Bates down the path to the bench.

Anna did not like the smell of smoke inside the cottage, so Thomas took advantage of the moment for a cigarette. He held out the pack to Bates, but Bates shook his head. Thomas lit up and leaned back on the bench. It was a crisp day, and the two men turned up their coat collars. The street was deserted. The other residents were inside their own homes readying for their Sunday dinners.

Bates glanced at Thomas, and his eyes settled on Thomas' left hand, which was relaxed on the bench next to him. Bates pick up Thomas' hand and examined the flesh-tone, fingerless glove that Thomas wore to hide his war wound. Thomas could see that Bates was only curious about his wound, but it felt as though they were holding hands. He glanced about quickly to be certain they were alone.

Bates peeled off the glove and examined the scar on the back of Thomas' hand. He traced the scar with his finger. "Does it hurt?"

Thomas shrugged. "Sometimes more than others. But my grip is poor, and I can't trust my fingers to do what I tell l them."

"How did it happen?"

Thomas had never told another soul that he had caused his own wound. It would be easy to tell Bates that he did not want to speak of it, and that would be enough for Bates. Why were the words sticking in his throat? Why had it become so damned important to him that he be honest with Bates no matter the consequences? "Were you ever in a trench, John?"

"No, the Boers used trenches in South Africa, not us."

"I couldn't take it, John. The shelling and the snipers, the overflowing latrines, the mud, trench foot, trench fever, lice, and rats as big as cats. We were surrounded by shallow graves. The rain would wash up the bodies, and the rats would have a feast. It had been more than two years since I enlisted, and I had to get out."

Bates nodded.

"I waited until dark and found a secluded spot. I held my lighter above the parapet to draw fire."

"You could have lost your hand, Thomas. You could have bled to death or ended up with gangrene."

"I know."

"You were a brave man, little brother."

Thomas was incredulous. "John, you don't think I was a coward?"

"What did I say? It isn't as though you did it on the first day, Thomas. You tried to do what was expected for as long as you could stand it. Then you did what you thought you had to do to survive." Bates turned over Thomas' hand and looked at the scar on the palm side. "When I think of what could have happened to you ..."

Thomas wondered at Bates' boundless empathy. It was easy to see why someone like Anna adored him.

Bates tugged Thomas' sleeve up to expose his wrist and touched that other scar. His voice hardened. "Does this one hurt?"

"No."

"Well, it should!"

Thomas knew that cutting his wrists was the one thing that Bates found difficult to forgive.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I shouldn't have said that." Bates pulled the glove back onto Thomas' hand. "Anna doesn't need to see this."

Thomas crushed out his cigarette, and Bates stood and grabbed his cane. "I'm starving." He started up the path. "I'll peak inside and see if it's safe."

Thomas, Bates, and Anna enjoyed their dinner while Thomas held Timothy on his lap. Thomas did not know much about babies. The nannies kept too close a guard until the Abbey babies were able to toddle. He flooded Anna and Bates with questions.

"When will he sit up on his own?" " _Soon._ " "When will he start laughing?" " _Any time now._ " "When will he walk?" " _Around his first birthday."_ "When will he say mummy and daddy?" " _After he walks, I think._ " "When will he eat what we eat?" " _When he has teeth._ " "When will that be?"

"Enough, little brother," Bates chided. "Timothy is our first baby. We don't have all the answers."

"Speak for yourself, Mr Bates," interrupted Anna. "I'm a mum now and have a great many answers."

Bates grinned. "Is that so, Mrs Bates? And I suppose you could teach me a thing or two."

"I suppose I could, Mr Bates." Anna stood to clear the dishes, but first she whispered something into Bates' ear that made him chuckle, and he kissed her twice.

Thomas felt a certain self-satisfaction when Anna and Bates behaved freely in front of him. They were a private couple, and he knew they would never be so open in the company of anyone else.

Bates moved to the sofa, where he took his place on the centre cushion and spread his arms along the back. "Thank you for this, Thomas."

Anna removed her apron. "I'll let the dishes soak. Now, Thomas, I expect you to pay for your meal with a Charleston lesson."

"I'm game if you are." Thomas handed Timothy to Bates.

While Thomas moved the chairs and the table out of the way, Timothy had a few things to say to Bates. He cooed and grabbed hold of Bates' hair. Bates gently pulled Timothy's hands away. "Careful, Timothy. I don't have enough to spare." Bates repositioned Timothy on his lap to give him a front-row seat for the proceedings.

"The Charleston's quick, Anna, but we'll slow it down."

"Right."

First, Thomas showed Anna the basic Charleston pattern. Anna managed that easily enough. Then he had Anna stand in place and twist her heels in and out. "Put your weight forward, Anna, on the balls of your feet." Anna followed Thomas' example. "That's it! Now we'll put it together." Thomas demonstrated the basic Charleston pattern while twisting his heels in and out with each step.

"What do I do with my arms?"

"Don't worry about your arms, Anna. Use them to keep your balance. Come on, give it a try." Thomas took Anna's hand. "We'll do it together, slowly." They began together with Anna fixed on Thomas' feet. "Look up, Anna. Now, you've got it! Let's speed up a bit." They danced a little faster and then faster still.

Bates held his hands in front of Timothy and clapped a rhythm. "You're doing it, Anna!"

Thomas paused. "Now, you're ready for the arms. You can swing your arms together or separately. Remember, you're a wild woman!"

"But not too wild, Anna," added Bates.

"No heckling, please," scolded Thomas as he removed his jacket. "You can do the Charleston either twisting your feet or kicking."

"Show me with the arms."

Thomas demonstrated, carefully angling himself to make room for his long legs to kick. "See, you can swing your arms to opposite sides or the same side or even straight up." Bates enjoyed watching Thomas dance. He was a graceful man. Bates had done his share of waltzing and two-stepping before he had been wounded, but he was a bear of a man. Thomas was a gazelle. And there was something else. Thomas let down his guard when he danced.

"Do what I do, Anna," instructed Thomas. Anna copied Thomas for as long as she could and then collapsed in laughter on the sofa."

"Nicely done, Anna. When you practice, imagine you're wearing a fringed dress." Immediately Thomas turned to Bates. "I said _imagine_ , John. I didn't say she should wear a fringed dress." Bates nodded appreciatively.

Thomas returned his attention to Anna. "Watch. Here's the fringe." Thomas rested his hands on his hips and spread his fingers. "Snake hips." Thomas walked across the room, stepping forward first on his right foot as he rolled his right hip forward and then on his left foot as he rolled his left hip forward. His hips moved in a figure eight as he walked, and he swayed his fingers back and forth as though they were fringe.

Anna laughed. "Oh, I could never do that!"

"No, she couldn't," echoed Bates with mock sternness. "Show us something else, Thomas," he urged.

"One more. The itch."

Anna made a face. "Oh my. What can that be?"

Thomas began the Charleston and then he twitched and touched his head with one hand and his lower back with the other as though he had been bitten simultaneously by two mosquitoes. On the next beat, he twitched again and touched his shoulder and the opposite leg. On the next beat, he twitched and touched the back of his neck and Timothy's chin. Timothy laughed, and everyone froze.

"He laughed," exclaimed Bates.

"Do it again, Thomas," begged Anna.

Thomas twitched twice and on the third twitch touched Timothy on the nose. Again, Timothy laughed ... not a shy giggle, but a hearty laugh. Thomas continued, and each time he touched Timothy, he elicited a fresh squeal of joy.

At last, Bates took pity on Thomas. "Have a seat, little brother, or he'll keep you going all night. We have to head back to the Abbey soon anyway."

Thomas sat on the sofa and gazed at Timothy. "It's amazing, isn't it? One minute he's a baby, and the next minute he laughs, and he's a person!" Anna and Bates knew what he meant.

Thomas carried Timothy as the three adults strolled to the Abbey. Thomas had been so excited about Timothy's laughing that he forgot to check his hair after dancing. When he removed his hat at the Abbey, he was oblivious to his unkempt state until Mrs Hughes asked him if he had been caught in a typhoon.

"Why didn't you tell me, Mr Bates?" Thomas muttered.

Bates widened his eyes, innocently. "I like it that way, Mr Barrow. You're a wild man!"


	24. Methuselah

**CHAPTER 24: **METHUSELAH****

 **The next morning**

 **The Dining Hall**

Lady Mary set down her coffee to open a letter from her sister.

* * *

 _Dear Mary,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well and your pregnancy progressing smoothly. I hope to join you in that regard before the year is out._

 _I am writing to ask a favour. An acquaintance of Bertie's, Ivor Novello, is expecting to purchase a country home within the next year or so. He's traveling about deciding where he might like to buy. I would like to extend him an invitation to stay at the Abbey for a single night and have Tom give him a tour of the area._

 _You may recognize Novello's name. He wrote the music for "Keep the Home Fires Burning" of which we were so fond during the war. He is both a composer and an actor. Have you seen his latest movie, "The Rat"? It was an enormous success._

 _I realize that you may not relish entertaining an actor, but he was a friend of Bertie's cousin, Peter, and Bertie feels obliged to assist him in any way he is able. Frankly, I am hoping that this gesture may help my cause by influencing Novello to give the magazine an extended interview with exclusive photographs._

 _Many of the servants, especially the women, will have heard of Novello and should be forewarned not to make a fuss. We must face it, Mary. Movie actors are the new aristocracy. We may as well make friends with our new bedfellows._

 _Please ring me up and let me know if you are able to help._

 _Your sister,  
Edith_

 _P.S. At the moment, Novello is between valets. He is not familiar with country estate life and hopes you will be able to provide a man who will prevent a gaffe on his part. I suggest that you select someone other than Barrow as both Novello and Barrow are artistic types._

* * *

Lady Mary set down the letter and sighed. She wasn't sure that getting along with her sister was all that it was cracked up to be. Still it would cost her little to cooperate, and this Novello fellow might be amusing.

* * *

 **The next day, after breakfast**

 **The Library**

Thomas entered the library. "Mrs Hughes is here. Is Your Ladyship ready for us?"

"Yes, Barrow. I'm sorry to interrupt your morning, Mrs Hughes."

Mrs Hughes approached Lady Mary. "I hope nothing is amiss, milady."

"Not at all. We're to have an overnight visitor this afternoon ... a friend of Lord Hexham. He'll be out and about with Mr Branson tomorrow, return for lunch, and then be on his way. Let's put him in the rose bedroom, Mrs Hughes."

"Yes, milady." Mrs Hughes still did not understand why she had been summoned to the library for an event as ordinary as a single visitor.

Lady Mary continued. "This will not be our usual visitor. Have your heard of Ivor Novello?"

Mrs Hughes shook her head, but Thomas piped up, "Yes, milady. He's an actor and a composer, too. I saw him in _The Rat_. I thought he was very good ... if Your Ladyship will pardon my impertinence."

Lord Grantham looked up from his desk. "An actor? You've invited an actor to stay here?"

"He was a friend of Bertie's cousin. What was I to do, Papa?" Lady Mary turned back to Thomas and Mrs Hughes. "Do you suppose many of the servants are familiar with Mr Novello?"

"Certainly, milady, especially the women," answered Thomas.

"That is why I wished to speak to you both. You must ensure that Mr Novello is not embarrassed by unseemly behaviour. He is not to be ogled, and he most certainly is not to be asked for his autograph."

Mrs Hughes nodded. "I understand, milady."

"We'll make certain that the staff is prepared, milady," assured Thomas.

"I'm confident you will. That will be all, Mrs Hughes."

After Mrs Hughes exited the room, Lady Mary turned her attention to Thomas. "Barrow, Mr Novello will be in need of a valet during his stay. It is my preference that Bates attend to Mr Novello. You will attend to Lord Grantham."

Lord Grantham turned from his desk. "May I ask why?"

"Bates is a more experienced valet. This is not Mr Novello's usual ... _milieu_. He will want Bates' advice."

Lord Grantham was annoyed. "Suppose I want Bates' advice?"

"Really, Papa. Must you make something out of nothing? It's only for one night."

Lord Grantham raised his hands in surrender. "As long as it's only for one night, Barrow and I can muddle through, right Barrow?"

Barrow smiled tightly. "Certainly, my Lord."

* * *

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Thomas and Mrs Hughes had met and agreed that the staff would be promised a paid trip to the cinema if all maintained a professional standard of conduct during Novello's visit. They made their announcement in the servants' hall and clearly outlined what did and did not constitute a professional standard of conduct.

Now Thomas and Bates were sitting in Thomas' pantry with the door closed. "Lady Mary has decided that you shall attend to Mr Novello during his visit, and I shall attend to Lord Grantham."

"Why would she want that?"

"Because you're the best, and Lady Mary wants Mr Novello to have the best."

Bates looked at Thomas intently. "That's not the true reason, is it?"

"No." Thomas sighed. "Lady Mary wants to keep me away from Novello because he's ..."

"Uranian?"

Thomas laughed. "That's a sophisticated word, John."

"It was a polite enough word in my day. Has that changed, Thomas?"

"Only that it's a bit out-of-fashion, that's all."

Bates was irritated. "And I'm a bit out-of-fashion as well, aren't I, Thomas. Lady Mary is afraid that Novello will make advances if you attend him, but if I attend him, then there's no concern, is that it?"

Thomas was amused by this turn of conversation. "Do you want him to make advances to you, John?"

Bates was not amused. "You don't know what it is to be past your prime, Thomas. Past your prime and walking with a cane." Bates threw up his arms in exasperation. "Look to whom I'm speaking. You'll never be past your prime, will you, Thomas!"

Thomas was astonished by Bates' outburst. Bates headed for the door but turned back. "Do you fancy this fellow, little brother?"

"I've never met him, John. How could I fancy him?"

"You've seen him at the cinema."

"I know the difference between fantasy and reality, John. What does it matter? After Hopwood, I promised Lady Mary that I would not permit myself intimate relationships."

"You promised her what? But that's none of her business!"

"John, you and I both know that it is her business. It's illegal, and she's my employer."

"She's bullied you."

"I can decide that for myself," warned Thomas.

"So, I'm to have no opinions now?"

"You know that's not it, John. I want to hear your opinions, but only I will decide if and when action shall be taken when it pertains to me. We agreed on that, didn't we?"

"We did."

"It's getting late, John. Mr Novello will be in the rose bedroom if you care to see that everything's in order. Or do you need help up the stairs, Methuselah?" Bates chose not to dignify Thomas' little joke with a response.

* * *

 **A short time later**

Thomas was finishing up his mail for the morning when Anna knocked on the door. Thomas caught the look of concern on Anna's face. "What's wrong, Anna?"

Anna smiled. "It's nothing serious, Thomas ... only John passed by me a couple of times today, and he seemed upset. He was muttering to himself and barely said hello. I thought you might know what's bothering him."

"Anna, I've never thought of John as a vain man, but suddenly he seems terribly concerned about his appearance."

"Does he?"

"He thinks he's too old to be attractive. I don't know where he got such a notion. He's not much older than I am."

Anna looked at Thomas thoughtfully. "It's not vanity. It's fear."

Thomas scoffed. "Fear? John?"

"Yes, Thomas, fear. How old are you?"

"I'm 32. I'll be 33 in May."

"So you're 32 and fit. I'm 37. I'm young enough to bear John another child. John is 47."

"That's not so old!"

"It's old to John. He thinks he has more years behind him than in front of him. It's harder for him to keep himself fit because of his limp. And he's terrified of losing his job. We all know that none of us is secure these days, not even the Crawleys. But John's afraid he's too old to learn a new trade if it comes down to it. Young or old, he's certain no one will give him the chance because of his limp."

"I didn't realize." Thomas recalled his parting comment to Bates. "Oh dear."

"What?"

"Anna, I made a terrible joke. I called him Methuselah."

Anna laughed. "It's not the end of the world, Thomas. He'll get over it. You may want to retire that joke."

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Lady Mary. Thomas and Anna immediately stood.

"Is this a convenient time, Barrow?"

"Certainly, milady. I'll speak with you later, Anna."

Lady Mary waited for Anna to leave before beginning. "Barrow, is everything set for Mr Novello's arrival?"

"Yes, milady."

"Tell me, Barrow, are you angry with me for not having you attend to Mr Novello?"

"It's not my place to have such opinions, milady."

"No, it isn't. So tell me, are you angry?"

"Not angry, milady. I'm disappointed that you don't trust me. You asked me if I were willing to be married to my job, and I said that I was. Now, you won't allow me the discretion to make staffing decisions that you would allow any other butler to make."

"You're quite right, Barrow. You decide who will attend to Mr Novello, and if it's you, then it's you."

Thomas was surprised by Lady Mary's contrite behaviour and tried to be gracious. "Thank you, milady."

"Barrow, I hope you're not going to make a habit of pointing out my faults and then having the gall to be right."

Thomas pulled himself to his full height and assumed the impassive expression he wore as butler. "Not if you begged me, milady."


	25. The Rat

**CHAPTER 25: THE RAT**

 **The Rose Bedroom**

Thomas opened the bedroom door and stepped aside to allow Novello to enter first. "Here you are, Mr Novello, the rose bedroom. I hope you'll be comfortable." Thomas carried in Novello's suitcases. "Shall I unpack and prepare your clothes for the remainder of the day, sir?"

"If that's what you do." Novello gazed about the room and settled himself on a chair. "Am I to understand that you're the butler here, Barrow?"

"Yes, Mr Novello." Thomas had been careful not to stare at Novello, but he'd seen enough to know that Novello was even more delicious in person than he was on the screen.

"You don't look like any butler I've seen."

"Sir?"

"The butlers I've seen are portly and bald, to say the least."

"I haven't been a butler for very long, Mr Novello. And times are changing."

"They certainly are. If you're a sample of the new breed, I'll have to get a butler straight away."

Thomas was flattered that Novello was flirting with him. He couldn't deny that he was enjoying it, but he had known men such as Novello in his younger days, men who were free with their sexuality and flit from one relationship to the next. That wasn't for him. Sex had never been casual for him. Perhaps Lord Grantham was right. Perhaps he was a romantic.

Novello watched Thomas unpack his belongings. "So you help me dress and undress?"

"It's the valet's job to provide whatever assistance is required, Mr Novello, and I'm your valet during your stay."

"I'm certain I'll need all sorts of assistance, Barrow. Is that what I'm to call you?"

"Yes, Mr Novello."

"Not Thomas?"

"In this house, I'm Barrow, sir."

"Hullo, Barrow."

"I beg your pardon, Mr Novello, but I found this bottle of perfume in your bag. If you're intending to present it as a gift, I would be pleased to have it wrapped for you."

Novello stood and approached Thomas. "What makes you think it's a gift, Barrow?"

"Isn't it perfume, sir?"

"That's right, Barrow."

"Then isn't it for a woman?"

Novello laughed pleasantly and took the bottle from Thomas. "This is Le Tabac Blond. I'll tell you a secret, Barrow. It was created for men, but men were afraid to wear it, so it's sold to women instead. Now I ask you, Barrow, why should men be afraid to wear perfume?" Novello removed the stopper and held the bottle under Thomas' nose. "Do you like it?"

Thomas sniffed politely. "Very nice."

"Nice? That's my error." Novello covered the opening with his finger and tipped the bottle. "You can't get the full effect from the bottle. Perfume has to mix with a man's body chemistry to achieve its allure." Novello drew his scented finger across his wrist and then rubbed his wrists together. Thomas was intrigued. "It takes about 20 minutes to develop fully, but you can get the idea." He held his wrist up to Thomas' nose. "What do you think?"

Thomas sniffed again and employed the wine tasting skill he had been developing with Carson. "It's leather, isn't it, and some type of flower and ... vanilla and tobacco. It's ..." Thomas wanted to say enticing but thought better of it. "It's pleasing."

"Would you like to try it, Barrow?"

Thomas wanted very much to try it but remained sensible. "I don't believe that Downton is ready for a butler who wears perfume, Mr Novello."

Novello planted his hand on the wall so that he was leaning close to Thomas. "Why are you hiding in the hinterlands, Barrow? A man with your chiselled features could be happy in London."

"I'm happy here, sir."

"Are you really? It seems deadly dull to me."

"To each his own, Mr Novello."

"So I hear. Tell me, Barrow, do you like to dance?"

"I do, sir."

"Have you ever seen two men tango?"

"No, Mr Novello," answered Thomas as he tried to picture it, "but it's something I'd like to see."

"That's the sort of entertainment you could enjoy at the right club in London. I don't imagine you'll ever see it in Downton."

"Probably not, sir."

"I could show you." With one quick movement, Novello pressed himself against Thomas, slipped his arm around Thomas' back, and turned him into the centre of the room. "How's that?"

"You're quite the expert, Mr Novello." Novello was now between Thomas and the door, and Thomas knew he had lost control of the situation. He stepped out of Novello's hold so he could walk around him to the door. "I've laid out your clothes for tea, sir, but they require pressing."

Novello playfully stepped in front of Thomas to block him. "What else have you laid out for me?"

"What else do you require, sir?" As soon as Thomas said it, he wished he could withdraw it.

"What do you think?"

Again Thomas tried to sidestep Novello. "I think I must attend to the pressing if you're to be ready for tea, sir."

Again Novello blocked him. "Let the wrinkles be damned."

"If you make an appearance at tea in wrinkled clothing, Mr Novello, it will reflect poorly on me." Thomas stepped to the left, and when Novello moved to block him, he quickly stepped to the right and then passed by Novello.

Thomas was quick, but Novello was quicker. As Thomas passed, Novello laughed and grabbed Thomas' left wrist. He pulled Thomas' arm to the side and turned so that he was pressed against Thomas' back. He gripped Thomas firmly about the waist with his right arm and began taking small swaying steps in a circle, rotating Thomas with him so that Thomas' back was to the door. Once again Novello was between Thomas and the door. "You're the butler, Barrow. Order someone else to press my clothes."

Thomas was beginning to panic. "They're all busy with their own duties, sir. That wouldn't be right."

Novello brought his mouth close to Thomas' ear. "I'm crushed, Barrow. I thought you were mine for the day ... and night."

Thomas required a different tactic. "You've been wearing the perfume for a while. May I have another go?"

Novello dropped his hands, allowing Thomas to turn so they were face-to-face. "I knew you liked it." He held up his right wrist for Thomas to sniff. Thomas smiled and took Novello's wrist in his hand. He bent his head down as though to take a sniff and quickly pulled Novello's arm forward to force him off balance. Before Novello could react, Thomas was pinning his twisted arm to his back.

Novello laughed nervously. "I suppose I should have told you, Barrow, but I don't like rough play."

Thomas was not certain how to proceed. He only wanted to leave the room without incident, but it seemed too late for that.

"Let go, Barrow, you're hurting me."

"I'm sorry, sir. I only want to leave."

"Then leave!" Thomas pulled Novello closer to the door. He let go and turned to flee, but tripped over the suitcase that he had left near the door. His face hit the door, and then he fell onto his left arm. He lay there for a moment stunned.

"Good god, man! What the hell's the matter with you?" Novello realized that Thomas might be hurt. "Here, let me help you."

"Don't touch me!" Thomas scrambled to his feet. He tried to feel for the doorknob without turning his back on Novello.

"Barrow, listen to me. If you leave this room looking like that, it won't be good for either of us. Your mouth is bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"But it doesn't look like nothing!" Novello backed up to the wall opposite the door. "Look, Barrow. I'll keep my distance. Please wait a moment and collect yourself. See, I'm sitting."

Thomas was uncertain. He leaned on the wall next to the door so he could make a quick escape if necessary.

"I don't understand what happened here, Barrow. If you weren't interested in me, why didn't you say so?"

"I did."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did, sir."

"Think, Barrow! Think and tell me what you said that should have alerted me."

"I said ..." Thomas couldn't remember. "Well, I certainly didn't say anything to encourage you!"

"No, you didn't, but someone else did!"

"What?"

"I was told that there had been a footman at Downton Abbey by the name of Thomas Barrow. If he was still there, it would be worth my while to make his acquaintance as he was a fine figure of a lad and a _very good sport_."

Thomas was horrified. "Who would tell you such a thing?"

Novello shrugged. "I was at a party last night, and I mentioned that I would be staying here. A friend of mine had brought an acquaintance of his." He closed his eyes and tried to picture the participants in the conversation. "Philip something, that was it. He was titled ... what was it ... not an earl ..."

Thomas felt sick. "A duke?"

"That's right. A duke."

"Did he tell you that we hadn't seen each other since well before the war?"

Novello was surprised. "No, he didn't."

"I am _not_ a very good sport, Mr Novello. Our relationship was serious. At least, I thought so at the time. I was only 19."

"You must understand, Barrow, I only knew what he told me. I was curious about you, and when I saw you ... well, you must know that you're an attractive man. It's true that you didn't encourage me, but after what this Duke fellow said, I thought you were toying with me. Please believe me, Barrow."

Thomas was trying to cope with the news that the Duke of Crowborough was spreading a nasty rumour about him. Why would he do that? How many people had he told?

"Barrow? Surely you don't think that I would have tried to force you! Why would I? I can't walk down the street without every bent boy in town throwing himself at me."

Thomas looked at Novello with disgust. He smoothed his hair and turned to the door.

"I'm sorry, Barrow. I didn't mean to be crude. But good god, man, I can't have you thinking I'm a rapist. It's horrible! I've never forced a man in my life. Where would the pleasure be in that?"

Thomas turned to Novello expecting to see arrogance. Instead, he saw concern.

"Please sit, Barrow. You're looking a bit pale."

Thomas relented and sat again on the edge of the bed. "Mr Novello, I'm not an acquaintance or a friend. I'm a servant. It's my duty to attend to your needs, and I'm dependent on your honourable behaviour."

"You make me feel small, Barrow."

"I beg your pardon, Mr Novello. That is not my intention."

"I suppose not." They sat in silence for a moment. "Barrow, may I ask you a question."

"Yes, sir."

"Have you ever seen one of my movies?"

"I saw _The Rat_ , Mr Novello. I especially liked the Apache dance."

"There, you see?"

"No, sir. What?"

"Men who like the Apache dance usually like me!"

Thomas smiled to himself. Who would have thought that movies actors could be insecure. "Mr Novello, are you asking me why I didn't ... submit to your advances?" Novello nodded. "It's not always about the man, Mr Novello. Sometimes it's about the type of relationship being offered."

Novello smiled. "Wisely said, Barrow. Are you quite all right now?"

Thomas stood. "I'm fine, Mr Novello. I'll attend to the pressing now."

"Wait, Barrow, please. May we begin again?"

"Sir?"

Novello stood and cautiously approached Thomas. "Hullo there. I'm Ivor Novello. I'm a charming and seductive movie star. And you are ...?"

Thomas laughed in spite of himself. "I'm Thomas Barrow. I'm the youthful but restrained butler of this fine estate and your valet during your stay."

Novello extended his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Barrow. 'Restrained' you say. Does that mean you engage only in serious relationships?"

Thomas shook Novello's hand. "Yes, Mr Novello. I'm seeking something permanent."

"Then you would be wise to spurn my advances, Barrow, as I am terrified of the word, _permanent_. There's nothing worse than when two men have different expectations of a relationship. Don't you agree?"

Thomas smiled. "Wisely said, Mr Novello." Novello laughed. Thomas began to collect Novello's clothes for pressing.

"Are you taking my entire wardrobe?"

"Only what you'll need for tea this afternoon, dinner tonight, and your outing tomorrow. And your shoes will need polishing."

"Barrow, take this, too." Novello handed Barrow his card. "I travel quite a bit, but if you're ever in London, give me a ring. If I'm in town, I'd love to show you around. No strings attached, I promise. It would be enough of a romp to strut about with you on my arm."

"You flatter me, Mr Novello." Thomas put Novello's card in his pocket.

"Look, Barrow. They're all going to notice your lip and the bruise on your face. Let me take the blame. I'll say that I stupidly moved one of the suitcases out of my way without warning you, and you turned and tripped over it."

"That's kind of you, Mr Novello."

"It's the least I can do. I feel quite the boor."

"Not at all, sir. I understand how you were misled."

"Let me make it up to you, Barrow. There must be something I can do."

"That's not necessary, Mr Novello." Thomas picked up the clothes and shoes and headed for the door. He stopped and turned to Novello. "Pardon me, sir, but there is one small thing you could do."

"So soon?" Novello laughed. "How much is this going to cost me?"

"Nothing at all and you may enjoy it, Mr Novello." Thomas explained his small request to Novello, and Novello smiled.

"That sounds like a good giggle! When I'm leaving tomorrow, you say?"

"Yes, sir." They shook hands on the bargain, and Thomas went about his business.


	26. Lamby

**CHAPTER 26: LAMBY**

 **2 A.M. that night**

 **The Path to the Bates Cottage**

Thomas fingered the key in his pocket as he walked to the Bates cottage. He had tried to sleep in his room, but when he closed his eyes, he could see only Philip and his blasé smile. Thomas imagined himself walking through the streets of London ... strangers pointing and smirking ... _There goes Thomas Barrow, the footman ... a very good sport_.

Thomas could not believe that his affair with Philip fifteen years ago had come back to haunt him. What reason could Philip have to be vengeful? He had been the one to break it off. What else might Philip be saying about him? It could be anything, and people would believe him because he was Duke of Crowborough. Who would take Thomas' word over Philip's?

Thomas marvelled at the many times he had been a poor judge of character. He had hated Bates right off but adored Philip and Hopwood. What was wrong with him?

Thomas had given up trying to sleep and was pacing about his room when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His wild hair, bruised face, and swollen lip were disconcerting, but the desperate look in his eyes frightened him. He changed out of his pyjamas, pocketed the key to the cottage, and escaped the Abbey.

Now he was at the cottage door and wondering whether or not he should use the key. If he unlocked the door in the middle of the night, Anna and Bates might think he was a burglar. Bates might be hiding a pistol for the protection of his wife and child. But Bates had insisted that Thomas was always welcome. He made a point of it. _Always_.

Thomas started back to the Abbey twice and turned back to the cottage twice. Finally, he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He stepped inside, closed the door as quietly as he could, and waited for his eyes to adjust. Once he was able to make out shapes, he could see that the door to the bedroom was ajar. Of course it was. Anna and Bates had left it open so they could hear Timothy, who was asleep in his cradle.

Thomas removed his shoes and walked silently to the sofa. He set down his shoes and slipped off his coat. He felt for the antimacassar and found it in place. He didn't want the Brilliantine in his hair to soil the sofa. He sat on the corner cushion and covered himself with his coat. As anxious as he was about Anna and Bates finding him there, he was comforted by the thought of them in the next room and Timothy in his cradle.

Thomas thought about his last conversation with Bates earlier that night. Bates had asked if anything "unfortunate" had occurred with Novello. Thomas did not want Bates to know that Novello had made advances. He replied that he had found Novello to be a pleasant fellow with many amusing anecdotes but that he was an educated man. He wanted more than good looks. He wanted good looks and substance. Bates scoffed, "If he didn't see that in you, then he's a fool." Sometimes Bates would say something like that and have no idea how grand it made Thomas feel. Thomas replayed the memory as he closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep.

Bates awoke to the sound of Timothy whimpering. "I'll go." Timothy wasn't quite sleeping through the night yet, and Bates had become accustomed to rising at that hour. He thought that his nursing wife needed sleep more than he did, and he enjoyed having a private conversation with his son in the wee hours.

Bates slipped on his robe and slippers and walked into the parlour where he lit the lamp. As the light came up, Bates was startled by the figure on the sofa. His heartbeat quickened before he realized it was Thomas. He caught his breath, turned, and scooped up Timothy from his cradle. "Let's not wake your Uncle Thomas," he whispered as he bounced Timothy against his shoulder. Bates had seen that Thomas was distressed the day before and was suspicious of his bruised face, even though his story of tripping over a suitcase seemed plausible. He was relieved that Thomas had chosen to come to the cottage instead of brooding in his room and working himself into a state. Bates would not ask him why he had come. He did not want Thomas to avoid the cottage for fear of too many questions.

When Timothy quieted down, Bates sat him on the end of the sofa opposite Thomas. "Look how well you're sitting, my beautiful boy," he whispered. "Now, wait here while I take care of your Uncle Thomas." He picked up Thomas' coat, draped it over a chair, and replaced it with a blanket from the cabinet.

Bates picked up Timothy and settled with him on the sofa. He soon forgot that Thomas was there and talked to Timothy as he always did. "Do you know your Daddy is old enough to be your grandfather? Yes, he is, yes, he is," he repeated rhythmically as he bounced Timothy on his knee. Timothy thought it was hilarious.

Bates rarely indulged in self-pity, but he was making an exception. He was feeling old. He was beginning to lose his sense of himself, more so even than when he had been wounded. He knew it was ridiculous, but he had felt less of a man somehow when Lady Mary had selected him as a safe choice to attend to Novello. He almost wished Thomas had allowed him to be Novello's valet. Bates laughed at himself. Thomas was right. He had wanted Novello to make advances to him. He had no interest in Novello or in any man. He only wanted to feel young and desirable again. He wanted to feel vital like Thomas.

Anna hadn't known what caused his mood, but she had no patience for it. She had said that if he felt old, then it was his choice. She said that she didn't see an old man when she looked at him. Even so, Anna was his wife and obliged to say such things. Bates feared a day when Anna might have to work to support her old, crippled husband, and he wondered how soon that day might come. Perhaps he had been selfish to father a child at his age.

Timothy did not appreciate Bates' introspective mood and began to fuss. "Did I forget about you, my beautiful boy? Are you my beautiful boy? Are you my beautiful boy?"

Thomas was waking up. In the last of his dream, Bates was calling him his beautiful boy. He opened his eyes and for a moment did not know where he was. His eyes landed on Bates and Timothy. Bates was bouncing Timothy on his knee, and Timothy was giggling. Thomas closed his eyes again and savoured the sense of serenity that was overtaking him.

Bates stood and sat Timothy on the sofa, "Does my beautiful boy want to play the itch?" That was enough to open Thomas' eyes again. He watched Bates lean against the sofa for support and take Timothy's hands. He moved Timothy's hands in imitation of how Thomas had demonstrated the dance. On every third move, Bates touched Timothy's hand to Bates' own nose or hair or ear, which set off a merry chain of laughter from Timothy. When Timothy had his fill of the itch, Bates took hold of Timothy's feet. "I'm going to eat your feet. Yes, I am. Yum, yum, yum." Timothy squealed with delight, and Thomas laughed, causing Bates to jump. Bates picked up Timothy and turned to Thomas. "So, you've caught me. Now, you know the true John Bates," he noted wryly.

Thomas pulled up his blanket to reveal his stocking feet. "Aren't you going to eat _my_ feet, John?"

"Timothy, this man is asking if I want an old piece of cheese when I just had leg of lamb. Are you my little lamby? Are you my little lamby?" Until this morning, Thomas had never heard Bates talk to Timothy in a babyish manner, and it gave him a cosy feeling.

Bates sat on the sofa and placed Timothy between himself and Thomas. "Thomas, what's that hanging from your sleeve?"

Thomas looked at his arm. "I sprained my wrist when I fell yesterday. I tried to wrap it so it wouldn't swell, but I couldn't manage it with one hand."

"Give me your arm. I'll fix it."

Thomas unbuttoned his shirt and slipped out his left arm so Bates could unwind the bandage and rewrap it. "I could have done this for you yesterday. You couldn't bear to ask me for help, could you?"

Thomas answered softly, "I'm here, aren't I?"

Bates paused and looked at Thomas. "You're right, little brother. You're here." He tousled Thomas' hair, and Timothy squealed with laughter.


	27. A New Man

**CHAPTER 27: A NEW MAN**

 **Later that morning**

 **The Rose Bedroom**

Thomas found himself looking forward to his morning duties with Novello. When he had returned to the rose bedroom the previous day, Novello was a perfect gentleman. He regaled Thomas with tales of his learning to fly and subsequent crashes in the Royal Naval Air Service during the war and his exploits while working on the stage and in films. He made Thomas laugh out loud when he described demonstrating the Apache dance to his friends only to accidentally pull the wig off the head of a good friend's wife.

When Thomas arrived, Novello was already dressed in the clothes Thomas had laid out for him and required only the finishing touches. Thomas was self-conscious. Not only was he sporting a multicolour bruise on his face and a misshapen lip, but his eyes were deeply shadowed from insufficient sleep.

"Aren't you a sight!" greeted Novello.

"I'm afraid you're not seeing me at my best, Mr Novello." Thomas held up a tie for Novella's inspection. "I thought this tie would do nicely, sir."

"I trust your excellent taste, Barrow. Now tell me what's wrong."

"Sir?"

"Something's kept you up all night. I hope it wasn't our misunderstanding yesterday."

"I don't know what you mean, sir." Barrow slipped the tie around Novello's neck.

"I mean you look like hell. I'm disappointed, Barrow. I thought we were friends. Friends confide in each other, don't they?"

"It's only that I was shocked to hear what the Duke said about me, sir. I can't help but wonder what else he has said and to how many people."

"So it's the Duke of Crowbladder who's the problem."

Thomas smiled. "Crowborough, sir."

"That's better, Barrow. I feel much happier when you smile. You have a lovely smile, you know. That buzzard isn't worth a night's sleep, Barrow. He mentioned you only because I said I was headed for Downton. How often do you suppose he encounters someone on his way here?"

"I don't know, Mr Novello. These cuff links, sir?"

Novello nodded and held out his arms. "The friend who brought Crowbungler to the party told me that the Duke married for money and made a poor job of it. He married an American heiress who wanted his title, only to find her miserly, coarse, humourless, and healthy as a horse. No doubt, she will outlive him."

"I wondered if he had ever married."

"I tell you what, Barrow, whenever I see anyone who was privy to the Duke's conversation that night, I'll set them straight. It makes no difference to me. I have sufficient conquests of which to boast. I'll tell them that I was my most alluring self, but Thomas Barrow, a man of infinite charm and integrity, had no interest either in me or in a common dalliance. I'd be telling them the truth, wouldn't I? And if I ever have the misfortune to encounter the Duke of Crowbugger again, I'll be certain to set him straight in front of as large an audience as possible. You have my word on it."

"I'd be most grateful, Mr Novello."

"You've extracted quite a few promises from me, Barrow. This must be what marriage is like."

Thomas laughed. Thomas wasn't in the habit of laughing while serving, but he knew that Novello not only tolerated it but appreciated it. "If it wouldn't be an imposition, Mr Novello ..."

"What, Barrow? Come out with it."

"If you have no objection, sir, would you also point out that I'm no longer a footman but the butler."

"Not only the butler, Barrow, but the right-hand man of the Earl of Grantham."

"If you feel compelled to say it in that way, sir."

"The truth is the truth."

"You may want boots today, Mr Novello, if you'll be getting out of the car. It's a muddy day." Novello nodded and sat so Thomas could pull on the boots. "Mr Novello, do you still intend to carry out our plan today?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"And you know who he is?"

"Yes, the fellow with the cane. I spotted him yesterday. He's very ..."

"Masculine, sir?"

Novello laughed. "I was going to say mysterious." Novello became serious. "You're fond of this fellow?"

"He and his wife are my friends, and I'm godfather to their son. I'm fond of all of them, sir."

"But you're more than fond of _him_ , aren't you, Barrow?" Thomas froze. Novello took hold of his arm. "Don't panic, Barrow. I won't say a word."

"Does it show?"

"Only to me. He's not one of us, is he?"

"No, sir."

"That won't change, you know. It's possible for a man his age to be like us and not have discovered it, but it's not likely. And if the bud isn't there waiting to blossom, and it probably isn't, then it's useless to try to plant the seed, Barrow. Take if from me."

"I know, sir."

"Is his marriage a happy one?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you wouldn't want to come between them, anyway, would you?"

"Oh no, Mr Novello, I could never do that. That would be a terrible thing." Thomas held Novello's coat open.

Novello slipped into the coat. They stood in silence for a moment. "Well, Barrow, if I'm to carry out our little game this afternoon ..."

"If you please, sir, it's not a game. I beg you not to make a joke of it."

"Of course not, Barrow. I understand. But we won't be able to say a proper goodbye this afternoon, or it will be ruined."

"Yes, sir."

"Let's say our goodbyes now."

"Certainly, Mr Novello."

"I expect you to look me up when you're in London. I know you're shy of the clubs, and you're right. They're a risky business. But there's always a private party, and I want to show you off and dance a proper tango with you. And I mean dance and that's all, I promise ... another promise!"

"I look forward to it, Mr Novello."

"And you'll call me Ivor when we're on the town, and I'll call you Thomas, right?"

"If you prefer it, sir."

"Yes, I prefer it. I've had my fill of _sir_ and _Mr Novello_. Now then, I have something for you." Novello retrieved a small gift box from his suitcase and handed it to Thomas. "I made a phone call and had it dispatched here yesterday after our little _to do_. Open it in the privacy of your room Barrow."

"Thank you, sir. You're very generous."

"Barrow, you're not destined to live out your life as a butler. It's 1926. Open your eyes and look around. There's something better for you out there." Thomas was silent. Novello had no idea how difficult it had been to become a butler. "Sorry, Barrow, I didn't mean to lecture you. Now, let's do as they do on the continent." Novello took Thomas by the shoulders and kissed him affectionately on each cheek. "Goodbye, Barrow."

"Goodbye, Mr Novello."

* * *

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

After his morning meeting with Lord Grantham, Thomas ran up the stairs to his room and closed the door. He pulled Novello's gift from his pocket and impatiently pulled off the wrapping and opened the box. Inside was a bottle of Le Tabac Blond. Thomas read the attached note.

 _To wear in London.  
Your devoted servant,  
Ivor_

Thomas opened the bottle and sniffed. He eagerly tipped the scent onto his finger and touched his finger to his wrist. He rubbed his wrists together as he had seen Novello do. He put away the bottle and card in his top drawer where he kept the notes from Anna and the thank you card from Carson for the bottle of wine. Carson had written that the wine was an excellent choice and that he took pride in Thomas' impressive progress.

Thomas imagined himself dancing the tango with Novello in London surrounded by admiring men. He brought his wrist to his nose to see how the scent was developing. He sniffed and sniffed again. It was intoxicating.

Thomas strode to the bathroom, removed his coat, and washed his wrists until he was certain that no trace of the perfume remained. He ran down the stairs and returned to his duties, relieved that no one mentioned an unusual scent.

* * *

 **After luncheon**

 **The Entrance Hall**

The car was ready, and Bates stood in the entrance hall ready to help Lord Grantham with his coat. He had already assisted Lady Grantham. The couple were taking the train to London with Novello to satisfy Lady Rosamund Painswick. Lady Painswick had been asking for months that they accompany her to see _No, No, Nanette_ at the Palace Theatre, and she would be put off no longer, no matter what Lord Grantham's excuses. The show's run would not last forever.

Lady Mary, Henry, and Tom were bidding farewell to Novello, whom Thomas was assisting.

Bates had yet to get a good look at Novello and wanted to see the man who found Thomas to be lacking. As he opened Lord Grantham's coat, he glanced sideways to watch Novello. He could see that Novello had the kind of good looks that excited women. Perhaps he was even as attractive as Thomas. He observed that Novello barely noticed Thomas as he slipped into the coat Thomas held.

Bates draped a scarf around Lord Grantham's neck and handed him his hat. "Thank you, Bates." Lord Grantham walked toward the door with Lady Grantham, where they turned back and waited for Novello.

Novello accepted his hat from Thomas with a small nod and started for the door. Bates waited, thinking he could get a better but discreet look at Novello as he passed. Novello stopped short in front of Bates. To Bates' surprise, Novello turned to him and stepped closer. "Who's this?"

Bates felt his cheeks redden. "John Bates, sir. I'm His Lordship's valet."

"Valet! You mean, I could have had your services yesterday?"

Bates didn't know how to answer. If his cheeks were red before, now his entire face was crimson.

"No matter, Bates. Ring me up if you're ever in London." He slipped his card into Bates' pocket, gave him a sly wink, and walked out the door, nodding to Lord and Lady Grantham as he passed.

Lord Grantham was beside himself. "What kind of display was that? I apologize for our guest, Bates. I don't know how I'm expected to sit next to him all the way to London."

Lady Grantham pulled on her gloves. "He's an actor, darling. He doesn't know any better. Rosamund isn't going to accept another excuse, Robert. We're going, and that's that. We've put up with worse." Lady Grantham calmly walked through the door, and Lord Grantham stormed after her.

Lady Mary was confused. Henry gave her a quizzical look, but Tom was no help. He was supremely unaware that anything unusual had occurred. Lady Mary walked to Bates, who stood in a state of bewilderment. "It seems you've made a conquest, Bates."

"Yes, milady. I mean, no milady!"

Lady Mary and the others went about their business, leaving Bates alone in the entrance hall. "What was that?" he demanded of the empty hall.

When the servants sat down to their own midday meal, Bates asked Thomas if he had heard what Novello said to him. "I heard," Thomas responded. "Why are you surprised? I told you that good looks aren't enough for him. He wants intelligence too. I suppose he saw both in you." Bates studied Thomas to see if he was joking, but Thomas seemed more concerned with eating than with teasing.

That night as Anna carried Timothy to the cottage, she noticed that Bates all but skipped up the path in spite of his cane. _How curious. He's a new man._


	28. Kewpie Doll

**CHAPTER 28: KEWPIE DOLL**

Mid-May, 1926

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

"The family simply must accept a woman serving in the dining room. That's all there is to it!" insisted Thomas as he discussed the Andy situation with Mrs Hughes. Now that Andy and Daisy were married, Andy wanted to work fewer hours at the Abbey and more hours at the farm. The hall boy, Billy, was in the midst of a growth spurt and far too clumsy to serve. "We're hiring a parlourmaid," Thomas concluded.

"If your mind is set, then I know just the woman," replied Mrs Hughes. "She's been in service for years but has never accepted a permanent job. She wanted to see England, so each position she accepted was in a different county."

"I don't want to hire a temporary, Mrs Hughes. All that effort to train her in our ways, and then she's off. What's the purpose in that?"

"She says she's had enough of travel and wants to settle down. She was raised in Downton, and she's moved back with her parents who are neighbours of Mr Carson and myself. I can assure you she's both capable and good-natured. Why don't I arrange an interview for tomorrow morning? I think you'll be pleased."

Thomas readily agreed. As butler, he had come to rely on Mrs Hughes' sound judgment. He knew exactly how dependent the successful operation of the Abbey was on her resourceful and practical self.

Mrs Hughes left Thomas to go about her business, but she was worried about him. Andy had told her in confidence that Thomas was up at all hours obsessing about the Abbey. Before he married, Andy had been in the habit of waking before sunrise and walking to the farm to help Mr Mason with morning chores. One morning, he had found Thomas asleep near the front door where he had been re-polishing one of the brass dragons. On another early morning, he had heard Thomas shouting in his pantry. When he opened the door to see what was amiss, he found Thomas at his desk cursing as he sorted through a stack of household bills. Andy surmised from Thomas' untidy appearance that he had been there all night. Bates had expressed concern to Mrs Hughes that Thomas was losing weight. He would down cup after cup of tea while eating very little. Mrs Hughes wondered how to broach the topic with Thomas.

Thomas remained in his office and rang up the agency to order an additional housemaid for the weekend. As butler, he had been so focused on the Abbey that he hadn't noticed any change in himself, and he was unaware of the concern others had for him save for Bates. He sometimes suspected that he was more a charity case to Bates than an object of true affection. The less sleep he got, the more certain he became.

* * *

 **Late the next morning**

At the appointed hour, Mrs Hughes brought her candidate to Thomas' pantry. "Mr Barrow, this is Minnie Childs."

Thomas looked up from the schedule he was reviewing to assess this itinerant parlourmaid. Everything about Minnie was round. Her cherubic face was surrounded by short, dark curls. She had large, brown eyes, dimples, and a small, bow-shaped mouth. She was tall for a woman and slender, but curvy, not skinny. Immediately, Thomas thought of a kewpie doll and could not help but smile.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Barrow." Minnie's voice was higher pitched than Thomas had expected from a tall woman. It had an impish quality that made him want to laugh.

Mrs Hughes walked to the door. "I'll see you on your way out, Miss Childs. I'm right down the hall." She closed the door behind her.

"Have a seat Miss Childs. I won't ask you about your experience. Mrs Hughes has assured me that you're qualified. I'm more concerned about whether or not you truly want a permanent position after living a life of travel."

"Then I'm obliged to explain why I chose such a life, Mr Barrow. It wasn't for love of travel. I was looking for a husband to support me so I could leave service and raise a family.

Thomas was surprised both by Minnie's explanation and by her candour. "And you didn't find one?"

Minnie chuckled. "What I found, Mr Barrow, is that men who want wives, don't want me."

"That doesn't seem likely, Miss Childs. You appear healthy and attractive enough."

"Unfortunately, Mr Barrow, I'm a bit too interesting to be a wife."

Thomas was amused. "And how is that?"

"I have dreadful habits, Mr Barrow."

"That sounds ominous, Miss Childs. What sort of habits?"

"Well, Mr Barrow the worst is that I read."

"And prospective husbands don't appreciate a well-read woman?"

"That has not been my experience, Mr Barrow. Reading leads to opinion which leads to discussion which leads to argument. I haven't found the prospective husband yet who appreciates a good argument."

Thomas was curious. "What are you reading now, Miss Childs?"

"Mrs Dalloway."

"Ah yes. Virginia Woolf. I read it last winter."

"Did you? I haven't finished it, Mr Barrow, so please let's not discuss it yet."

"I understand completely, Miss Childs. I'm afraid we've lost our way a bit. I was asking you why you want a permanent job. What makes you think you won't find a husband in Downton?"

"I'm thirty, and that's the end of it. Spinsterhood, come and take me. I'm yours."

Thomas sat back in his chair and laughed heartily. If he were the kind of man who wanted a woman, he might have gotten down on one knee right then and begged Minnie to marry him. An honest, well-read woman with a sense of humour and a charming face who knows how to serve ... what more could a man want?

* * *

As luck would have it, the night Minnie made her first appearance in the dining room, the Dowager and Lord and Lady Merton were in attendance.

The Dowager observed Minnie serving the first course. "What's this? A woman serving?"

"Barrow, has it come to this?" asked Lord Grantham.

Thomas replied evenly, "This is Minnie Childs. She has served throughout England."

"Couldn't keep a position, my dear?" asked the Dowager.

"Why shouldn't a woman serve the dinner?" interrupted Lady Merton. "A woman prepared it! I think it's about time."

"Of course you do. I would be disappointed if you didn't. But what if one of us were to swoon? Who would be strong enough to catch us?" demanded the Dowager.

"This is the modern age, Granny," replied Lady Mary. "Women don't swoon today. We're independent."

"If modern women knew how to swoon, they wouldn't _need_ to be independent," the Dowager retorted.

By then, Minnie had worked her way to the Dowager. As the Dowager served herself from Minnie's tray, Minnie leaned close to her ear and spoke. Thomas held his breath. At first the Dowager appeared shocked that Minnie would speak directly to her on her first night of service, but then she listened, and finally she smiled.

"Well, I haven't swooned in over sixty years, and I don't intend to resume tonight," proclaimed the Dowager, and that concluded the matter.

After dinner, Lady Merton pulled the Dowager aside. "I'm dying of curiosity. What did Minnie say to you?"

The Dowager stood poker-faced. "She said, 'I may not be as strong as a man, but I make up for it in other ways. For instance, I bring a bag to work with me every day with my dresses, sewing machine, and other necessities. It's too heavy for me to carry, but because I'm clever, I hang it on my bicycle and carry my bicycle instead.'"

Lady Merton was puzzled for a moment. Then she laughed so loudly that everyone turned to look. "What an odd duck!"

The Dowager took Lady Merton's arm as they walked to the drawing room. "We need an odd duck. I've been terribly bored."


	29. The Letter

**CHAPTER 29: THE LETTER**

Thomas was anxious to eradicate the memory others held of his _scoundrel years_ , as he referred to his earlier life at the Abbey. He became obsessed with performing his job to perfection, and his pursuit of perfection often led to insomnia. Bates and Mrs Hughes knew the signs. He would stop eating and become withdrawn and even clumsy. His eyes would disappear in black shadow. Bates and Mrs Hughes dreaded the melancholy and paranoia that sometimes followed.

Soon after Minnie embarked on her new position at the Abbey, Bates and Mrs Hughes were relieved to see the shadows fade from Thomas' face and his hearty appetite return. Mrs Hughes had insisted that Minnie report to Thomas because she functioned more in his realm than hers. Thomas found he could rely on Minnie. She was cheerful without being sweet. (Thomas found sweet women to be annoying.) She never rushed through a task to get to the end but rather was a mistress of detail. Never again did Thomas have to re-polish the brass dragons at the front door.

The only hiccup was Minnie's tendency to sing while she worked. She had gotten into the habit at her previous position working for an older woman who had grown deaf. The woman's family would be out and about during the day, and the staff would share all the latest songs while they worked, and no one knew the difference. Thomas was amused by Minnie's impish voice singing _Baby Face_ but was forced to remind her that members of the Crawley family would not appreciate the concert.

As his insomnia dissipated and his vigour returned, Thomas became secure again in his blossoming relationships and accepted Bates' friendship for what it was. He knew Bates returned his affection, maybe not in kind, but he returned it nonetheless, and Thomas knew it was sincere.

On the other hand, Bates wondered if their friendship wasn't tying Thomas to a life he had outgrown. Times were changing, but the change in London was more robust than the change in Downton Village. Perhaps there was a place in London for Thomas to build a more satisfying life. Bates decided to take a chance. He retrieved Novello's card, which he had saved as a souvenir of a moment he knew would never come again, and wrote a letter.

* * *

 _Dear Mr Novello,_

 _I am taking pen in hand to prevail upon your good nature on behalf of a close friend, Thomas Barrow, the butler who attended you during your visit to Downton Abbey in Yorkshire. I am hopeful that you will recall giving me your card upon your departure._

 _Mr Barrow is an artistic sort, such as yourself, and I fear that he has anchored himself to a village too quaint to offer him an outlet for his creative energies. I wonder if London might offer Mr Barrow a more fulfilling future. I am confident you have the sensitivity to grasp my meaning._

 _Mr Barrow has spent several seasons in London, but a servant has little time to discover the potential of a city. In addition, Mr Barrow will not have occasion to visit London in his capacity as butler this season. Our employer will not be opening Grantham House until next year._

 _I humbly request your advice on this delicate subject. I have not told Mr Barrow that I am writing to you and would appreciate your discretion._

 _Yours obediently,  
John Bates_

* * *

Bates mailed the letter half-hoping that he would not receive a reply. He wanted Thomas to be happy, but he did not want to lose the man who had become the outlet for all his brotherly affection.


	30. Thomas Barrow's Holiday

**CHAPTER 30: THOMAS BARROW'S HOLIDAY**

 **One week later**

 **The Library**

"Are you aware that you haven't said anything, Bates?" asked Lady Mary. She could not recall the last time Bates had asked her for a private word, if ever, and she knew the topic must be of importance to him. Yet the man had stood before her in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. "Are we to play charades?"

Bates was startled when Lady Mary spoke. He was absorbed so completely with the task of framing his concerns without upsetting Lady Mary's sensibilities that he had forgotten they were in the same room. "I beg your pardon, milady. I wish to speak to you on a sensitive subject, and I'm uncertain how to begin."

"I hope nothing is amiss at home."

"Not at all, milady. I'm a fortunate man. I'm here to speak on behalf of Thomas Barrow who is unaware of this conversation."

Lady Mary tensed. She hoped she was not about to hear of a new indiscretion. "And what has our Mr Barrow done now?"

Bates saw the irritation in Lady Mary's eyes. "I'm not here to lodge a complaint, milady. On the contrary, I assure you that Mr Barrow has devoted himself to the service of your family."

"I'm well aware of Mr Barrow's accomplishments. I'm surprised that you feel you must bring them to my attention."

Bates was becoming annoyed with himself. He was not accustomed to floundering. "I don't mean to try Your Ladyship's patience. I didn't expect difficulty choosing the right words."

Lady Mary was baffled. Bates was usually the Rock of Gibraltar. She could not imagine why he was hesitant. "Surely you don't find me too formidable for ordinary conversation, Bates. You have more intestinal fortitude than that."

Bates decided to forge ahead without revealing his specific purpose. "Very well, milady. I'm here because I'm concerned about Mr Barrow's well-being."

"Is he ill, Bates?"

"No, milady. But I'm concerned that he will become ill if he doesn't take a holiday."

Lady Mary wondered if the concern that Thomas _would become ill_ was a euphemism for _would become suicidal_. That would explain Bates' reluctance to speak. She was fond of Thomas, but it was not sensible for Downton Abbey to have a butler who belonged in an asylum. Lady Mary stopped herself. She was jumping to conclusions. What did it matter? She knew she shared Bates' compulsion to protect Thomas. "Mr Barrow manages this household and is free to arrange a holiday if he likes."

"That's the problem, milady. He doesn't like. He's determined to prove himself to you and Lord Grantham, and his determination has drained him. He can't see that his dedication is at cross purposes with his success."

"And so you expect me to foist a holiday on the man?"

"That is my hope, milady."

"Forgive me, Bates, but this doesn't seem to be the delicate subject you promised. As usual, you are feeding others pap and keeping the interesting titbits to yourself."

"As a rule, I find that saying the least possible is the most prudent, milady."

* * *

 _My dear Ivor,_

 _I have received your kind letter of the 23rd in which you wrote of your desire to help our boy find his place. I take this opportunity to write and let you know how touched I am by your generosity. I hope my letter finds you in good health and spirits._

 _Thomas received your invitation the day after our employer insisted he take a week's holiday. Your timing could not have been more opportune. He is excited to visit you, although he is anxious that your friends will perceive him as a rube._

 _You should not underestimate Thomas. He is a veteran of the trenches and no innocent. However, I am relieved that you intend to protect our boy from those who would take advantage of a man who leads a more cloistered life, as you put it._

 _My heart wants Thomas to find a happier path, but I confess that if that path takes him away from Downton, it will be my heart that suffers. Still, I must do what is best for him and am gratified that we share that desire._

 _I accept your friendly invitation to address you as Ivor and expect that you will return the favour by addressing me as John._

 _Your grateful servant,  
John Bates_

 _P.S. It is unfortunate that Lord Grantham felt it necessary to be harsh with you when he told you of my wife and child on your train ride to London. I can say only that I have known Lord Grantham from before the dawn of this century, and that he truly is a kind soul. But he and I are men of another time, and he can be rigid when the tenets with which he was raised are tested. I pray that you will forgive his zealousness in guarding my welfare._

 _Allow me to assure you that I was not insulted. Rather, I marked the event in my mental diary: "Ivor Novello, that movie star with the_ _chiselled_ _face, flirted with me today and gave me his card. I will treasure it as a keepsake of an exhilarating moment in my life."_

* * *

 **Ten days later**

 **Ivor Novello's Flat**

Thomas was not accustomed to being a guest and hoped he would not embarrass Novello or himself. Novello's chauffeur, Morgan, carried Thomas' bag from the car to the Strand Theatre building, operated the rickety lift, and opened the door to the flat on the top floor. He stepped aside so Thomas could enter first. Thomas glanced about the room and saw an assortment of visitors in an assortment of dress. He had not expected a crowd. Then he heard Novello's voice exclaim, "Thomas Barrow, at last!"

Immediately, Novello was standing in front of Thomas. "Welcome, darling Thomas." He clasped Thomas' face and kissed him on the lips, took his hand, and pulled him into the room. "Come. I'm in the middle of something."

Novello halted in front of a scowling young man who was leaning against a piano and taking a long drag from a cigarette in a holder. The young man continued, as though Novello had never left his side, a diatribe on the dangers of being too comfortable in one's work. From what Thomas could gather, he was chastising Novello for agreeing to play The Rat in a second movie. Novello nodded contritely. He was still holding Thomas' hand and began to swing it back and forth. Suddenly the young man stopped speaking and turned sharply to Thomas. "Thomas Barrow? I know who you are! You're the butler who snubbed our dear Ivor! You know what that means, don't you? It means that you and I are best friends." The young man turned to Novello. "Ivor, he looks exactly as you described. How unlike you not to exaggerate."

Novello dropped Thomas' hand and put his arm around Thomas' shoulders instead. "Thomas, this is an acquaintance of mine. I've tried to shake him, but he is forever showing up at mealtime on the pretext of borrowing a cigarette. His name is ... give me a moment, I'll think of it ... oh yes, Noël ... Noël Coward, that's it, isn't it? He's the world's greatest playwright. You only have to ask him."

"It's true, Thomas. You've seen my work, of course."

Thomas could not believe that he was meeting the playwright and actor about whom he had read in the newspaper, but he was determined to remain calm. "I'm afraid I haven't had the misfortune." Thomas had meant to say 'good fortune,' and when he realized his error, he froze.

Coward and Novello looked at each other and burst into laughter. Coward took Thomas' arm and started for the door. "I'm taking you home with me right now."

Novello was still laughing. "Noël, there's no need to terrify the man. Let him go. You have no idea the hoops through which I had to jump to get him here."

Coward turned back to the room but did not release Thomas. "Quite right. Just because you've charmed a guppy, Thomas Barrow, doesn't mean you're ready for Moby Dick. Do you wish to swim back to the little fishes?"

"I wish to see the lifeguard," replied Thomas, which elicited fresh laughter.

Novello gestured to Morgan. "Morgan will save you, Thomas. Morgan, please show this fine gentleman to his room. Noël, he's only just stepped off that dreadful train from Yorkshire to London, and we haven't given him one moment to shake off the cinders."

Coward released Thomas' arm. "That is a dreadful ride. Forgive me, Thomas, for I am a lout."

Novello stepped between Thomas and Coward and put an arm around each. "I believe there's another reason Thomas must forgive you, Noël, or have you forgotten?"

"Certainly not. Thomas, I confess that I'm the dastardly villain who brought Philip to the party where he met Ivor and spread those ghastly rumours about you. I brought him because I was courting his wife's money for a new play. He refused me because his wife refused him, so, I despise him thoroughly and am your loyal friend for all time."

"Heaven forbid!" interjected Novello.

"May I remind you, Ivor, that if you and Philip had not met, Thomas might not be here now."

"Noël may be right, Thomas, and we may be in his debt, a thought too horrifying for words."

Coward reached out and grasped Novello's wrist. "Speaking of horrifying words, dear Ivor, let's discuss your most recent attempt at writing, shall we?"

Novello winked at Thomas and turned his attention to Coward. Morgan whisked Thomas away to his room while Coward let loose his passion-fuelled critique.

Thomas was relieved to have a brief respite from the insanity of Novello's parlour. He looked about the room Novello had assigned him and was pleased. The room was comfortable and well-appointed and would make a welcome retreat from what he anticipated would be a challenging week. "Is it always like that?" he asked Morgan, tilting his head towards the parlour.

Morgan smiled. "Not always, but often enough. But it's always that way between Ivor and Noël. They're professional rivals, you know, but they're also close friends."

"Are they?" Thomas thought it must be exhausting to have a friendship like that. "Morgan, I hope I can count on you to advise me while I'm here. I don't spend my days with artists and intellectuals as you do. I'm only a country butler."

Morgan shook his head. "You're not _a_ butler, Mr Barrow. You're _the_ butler. You're the butler who refused Ivor Novello. Everyone knows who you are!"

Thomas felt his knees buckle, and he sat down hard on the soft bed. This _was_ going to be a challenging week.


	31. The Butler

**CHAPTER 31: THE BUTLER**

 **A moment later**

 **Thomas' Bedroom  
Ivor Novello's Flat**

Thomas was beginning to question his decision to visit Novello. In Downton, he felt like a sophisticate; here, he felt like an oaf.

Again, Thomas attempted to make an ally of Morgan. "Morgan, I don't want to embarrass Ivor in front of his friends and staff. I work on a traditional estate where the servants are accustomed to receiving tips. Please tell me what is customary here. I don't want to snub anyone out of ignorance."

Morgan smiled pleasantly. "There's no need for concern, Mr Barrow. No one on the staff will accept a tip from you. Ivor has said he'll take care of us after your visit."

Thomas frowned. "He shouldn't have done that, Morgan. I'm not a yokel, and I'm not a charity case. I do have _some_ money. And please, Morgan, if you address your employer as Ivor, then you must call me Thomas."

"Thank you, Thomas. I don't like to be familiar without an invitation. Please understand that no one here considers you a charity case. Ivor knows you have limited funds, and he doesn't want financial concerns to ruin your holiday. He appreciates that your work allows you little opportunity for time off. You must understand that many of Ivor's friends, as well as Ivor himself, came from modest beginnings and accepted favours along the way. They see no shame in it or cause for concern."

"Are you certain, Morgan?"

"Absolutely. And you shouldn't be concerned about what I'm about to show you."

Thomas stood. "What now?"

Morgan opened the closet to reveal a small selection of men's clothes. Thomas saw evening clothes, a luxurious overcoat, a midnight blue suit, and some trousers. There were a couple of sweaters on the shelf. "Please keep in mind that they're all borrowed. Ivor wanted to buy them for you but was afraid you'd be insulted."

Before Thomas had a chance to comment, he heard a knock. Morgan opened the door, and Novello stepped inside. "I see you found the clothes. Don't be angry with me, Thomas. They're all borrowed."

"So I've heard."

Morgan remained by the door. "I must excuse myself now. It was good to meet you, Thomas."

"The same to you, Morgan, and thank you." Morgan nodded and closed the door as he left.

Novello draped himself languidly across the bed. "I hope Noël's lecturing didn't put you off. He's trying to make an artist of me, but I'd rather be a success." Novello laughed at his own joke. "Have you unpacked yet?"

Thomas shook his head. "Not yet."

"Let's see what you've brought."

Thomas tried to be nonchalant. He set his bag on the end of the bed and opened it. He pulled out the first item.

"What's that?" asked Novello.

"Pyjamas."

Novello stood and inspected them. "These won't do at all!"

"Why not? Who's going to see me in my night clothes?" asked Thomas. He tried to sound casual, but he was alarmed.

"It's not who sees you in them that counts, Thomas," replied Novello gently. "It's how you feel while you're wearing them." Novello opened a drawer and pulled out a box tied with a ribbon. "This is for you. It's a gift from me to you. You must have the full experience while you're here ... even while you're sleeping!" He held out the box to Thomas.

Thomas didn't take the box. "Ivor this won't do. I thought we had an understanding about this week."

Novello flashed a mischievous smile. "You mean that your virtue is sacred? I have every intention of keeping my promise to you, Thomas. I don't want to end up with a broken arm!" Novello chuckled at his memory of their first time alone in a bedroom. "Don't spoil my fun, Thomas. Take the box. Please." Novello clasped his hands and assumed his most angelic face.

Thomas couldn't help but laugh. He accepted the box, pulled off the ribbon, and opened it. Inside were silk pyjamas and a matching robe. "They're red!"

"Fire engine red, to be exact. Just your colour, I think."

"Do you?" Thomas stroked the red fabric with his hand. "Thank you, Ivor."

Novello peaked inside Thomas' bag. "Did you bring the perfume?"

"Or course I did." Thomas reached inside and retrieved a sweater. Inside the sweater was his bottle of Le Tabac Blond in its protective box.

"Let me put it on you." Novello did not wait for Thomas' approval. He opened the bottle and dabbed some perfume behind Thomas' ears. "Let's see how it develops on you."

Novello reclined again on the bed, and Thomas continued to unpack. "Bobbie wasn't home when you arrived, but he'll be home soon."

"Bobbie?"

"Didn't I tell you? This is my flat, but I live here with Bobbie ... Bobbie Andrews. He's an actor, too."

Thomas was not certain he understood. "You mean, he's your lover?"

"Yes. Is that so surprising?"

"But you're so ... _free_ with yourself!"

"Yes, and so is Bobbie. To us, love is not about locking ourselves up together."

Thomas shook his head. "I could never do that."

"Do what?"

"If I made a home with a man I loved, I couldn't bear for him to sleep around. I don't think I could bear even for him to flirt with another man." Now it was Novello who shook his head. "Do you think I'm selfish, Ivor?"

"I think we're two different men, that's all. You aren't judging me, are you, Thomas?"

"Why should I judge you?" Thomas grinned. "I've heard that there's room for all types of men in London."

Novello laughed. "There's room for all types of men in London and even in this flat, my darling." Novello stood. "Let's see how your Tabac is coming along." He stepped behind Thomas and clasped him around the waist. Thomas didn't resist. He accepted that Novello loved to flirt but knew that there was a line he would not cross uninvited. Novello brought his nose behind Thomas' ear and sniffed. "Yum!" Thomas closed his eyes for a moment and savoured the feel of Novello's breath on his neck and arms about his waist. How easy it would be to surrender to Novello, but Thomas had more self-discipline than that, even if no one at Downton thought so.

Novello released Thomas and leaned against the door. "Tell me, Thomas, is there anything you especially want from your visit here."

"Yes. I want not to read of my arrest in _The Illustrated Police News_."

Novello was about to make a joke but saw that Thomas' concern was real. "I don't take those kinds of risks, Thomas, truly. And I certainly would never put you in harm's way. Now tell me what you'd like to do while you're here."

Thomas smiled. "Against my better judgment, Ivor, I'm putting myself in your hands."

* * *

 **The next morning**

 **Ivor Novello's Flat**

Novello did not like mornings, and Thomas relished the opportunity to sleep late. When he awoke, he remembered that he was wearing red silk pyjamas. He jumped out of bed, slipped on the matching robe, and examined himself in the full-length mirror. He placed a cigarette in his mouth, smoothed his hair to one side, and posed. He laughed and shook his head. He was no Ivor Novello.

Thomas enjoyed a quiet breakfast with Novello and Bobbie. Thomas liked Bobbie and could see that he was good for Novello. Novello was flighty, but Bobbie was sensible. After breakfast, Novello announced that a dance teacher, Garland Jobin, was coming to the flat to improve Thomas' tango. Novello would get some work done while Garland worked with Thomas. "I have a rehearsal space rented for tomorrow. Garland will work with both of us there."

When Garland arrived, he took one look at Thomas and said, "It's impossible! Look at his posture."

Thomas was taken aback. He had always taken pride in his carriage. Who was this petite man with his wild mane of black hair and his odd little goatee? "What's wrong with my posture?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. It's perfect. It's perfect for the fox trot or the waltz or anything _except the tango_!"

"Garland, darling, Thomas is a capable man. Show him what he must do, and he'll adapt. I must get to work now." Novello started for his study, stopped for a moment, and then called Garland to his side. "Garland, you must behave yourself with Thomas."

Garland pulled himself to his full height, which brought him to Novello's chest. "I can teach the tango, or I can behave myself, but to do both is impossible. Which do you want?"

"Both, darling. I insist."

* * *

 **Wednesday morning**

 **The Servants' Hall**

As Bates and the others were gathering for breakfast, Minnie rushed into the room brandishing a newspaper. She handed the paper to Bates. "Lady Mary wants you to see this. _I_ want you to see this. You won't believe it!"

Minnie had the paper opened to the item of interest. She pointed to a photograph of two men in white tie standing back-to-back. They each were holding dance partners whose faces were in shadow. Bates looked at Minnie. "So?"

"So?" Minnie tapped the newspaper impatiently. "Look again, Mr Bates!"

Bates looked more closely and let out a gasp. The photograph was of Thomas and Ivor Novello. The caption read, "Ivor Novello and mystery man demonstrate a new interpretation of the tango."

Anna bent over Bates' shoulder. "Is that Mr Barrow and that actor, The Rat?"

"That's right! Mr Barrow and Ivor Novello." Minnie confirmed triumphantly. "Read us the story, Mr Bates."

"There's a story, too?" asked Mrs Hughes in disbelief.

"It's Lord Castlerosse's column," replied Bates.

" _The Londoner's Log_! Please read it, Mr Bates," begged Minnie.

Bates prayed that the article would not imply anything improper between Thomas and Novello. He preferred to read it in private, but that was going to be impossible. Reluctantly, he set the paper on the table and read the story aloud while Daisy served their breakfast. "Ivor Novello and a mysterious companion took charge of the dance floor last night, along with their partners, actresses, Constance Collier and Gladys Cooper, at the Savoy Hotel."

"Gladys Cooper! Do you suppose she's the one who danced with Mr Barrow?" wondered Baxter.

"She's truly a beauty," added Andy who was working at the Abbey full-time while Thomas was on holiday.

"Is Mr Barrow the mysterious companion?" asked Daisy.

"I suppose so," Bates answered. He continued reading, "The Savoy Orpheans played a tango, no doubt prearranged by Mr Novello. Mr Novello and his accomplice, unlike the other couples on the floor, made no effort to match the quick tango rhythm. Rather they made a spectacle of slowness, not ponderously, but exquisitely so. They further astonished the after-theatre crowd by maintaining back-to-back contact with each other for the entire dance while expertly manoeuvring their partners in a tight circle. The unbroken, blind contact between the two men intensified the allure of their movements. If one moved his left leg forward, the other moved his right leg back in perfect synchronization, with no apparent signal between them. Pair by pair, the other dancers stepped aside to watch in fascination. Take a lesson, Valentino; this is how it is done!

"When the music ended, Mr Novello and his fellow dancers returned to their seats amidst much conjecture as to the identity of Mr Novello's friend. I tried to gain access to the handsome stranger, but Mr Novello and his tablemate, Noël Coward, along with the rest of their party, closed ranks, thwarting all attempts by the public and the press to question the newcomer. Mr Coward was overheard referring to the man as The Butler. Some suggested he truly was no more than an ordinary butler, but I can assure my readers that there was nothing ordinary about him."

"But he is an ordinary butler!" protested Daisy.

"Let him finish, Daisy," chided Mrs Hughes. "I can't believe my ears."

Bates read, "A more likely explanation came from a source within Mr Novello's inner circle, whose identity I promised to protect. The mystery man is a cousin of murdered Czar Nicholas II. According to this more convincing account, he had the foresight to leave Russia, penniless, in 1910, convinced that revolution was inevitable and took refuge in the North of England where his native elegance secured him employment on a country estate."

Anna began to laugh. "1910! That's when Mr Barrow came to work here. What will the Crawleys say when they find out they have a Russian prince for a butler?" Everyone was laughing now, even Bates.

"Wait. There's a bit more." Bates read the ending. "As last night's frivolities progressed, other men attempted to cooperate on the dance floor in imitation of Mr Novello and The Butler's back-to-back style, but their attempts inevitably led to disastrous and often hilarious results. No doubt, Mr Novello and The Butler had spent months perfecting the technique." Bates sat back. "That's all it says." The newspaper was immediately removed from Bates' hand and passed around the table as the room filled with excited chatter.

Bates was relieved. He had detected no insinuation of a romantic relationship between Thomas and Novello, and the Abbey, Downton Village, and even Yorkshire were not specifically identified in the article. Still, he didn't look forward to hearing Lord Grantham's comments on the story.


	32. His Is Rounder

**CHAPTER 32: HIS IS ROUNDER**

 **Late Wednesday morning**

 **Ivor Novello's Flat**

It was too early for breakfast; breakfast was never served before noon. Thomas enjoyed a leisurely bath while he took stock of his first few days in London. Novello was acting in _Down Hill_ , a play he had written with Constance Collier that had opened a couple of weeks earlier. Thomas' first night at the flat had been Novello's night off. Each night after that, Morgan drove Thomas and Bobbie to the Queen's Theatre to pick up Novello after the show and dropped them off to dine with the after-theatre crowd. Novello and Bobbie held court and introduced Thomas to their friends. They ate and drank and danced and gossiped until the wee hours. Thomas set himself a nightly limit of two glasses of champagne. Novello was always affectionate, and Thomas wanted his wits about him. Thomas had known men who held power because of their position or money, but Novello was the only man Thomas knew whose power came from his charisma. Thomas found him difficult to resist.

As Thomas washed himself, he thought about the tango lesson Ivor had scheduled with Garland for his first morning at the flat. Garland wanted to see how well Thomas could dance. "Show me your most romantic tango. I'll be the woman. Lucas, _maintenant_ , a tango." Lucas Bazin was Garland's accompanist. He was a gorilla of a man who spoke little English but managed the piano keys adeptly with his gorilla hands and always knew what Garland wanted. Thomas felt ridiculous dancing with Garland, but he didn't want to disappoint Novello. He danced as he would with any woman at any social occasion.

They danced briefly before Garland pulled away and Lucas stopped playing. Garland stroked his goatee. "I like a challenge." Thomas felt insulted but held his tongue for Novello's sake. Garland reached up and tapped Thomas' forehead. "Let me give you an image. Think of a strong woman you would like to dominate."

"All right."

"Good. This woman is ice, but you will make her melt. You will transfer your heat to her with your body, your arms, and your face, and you will destroy her. Forget about your posture. It won't help you. Now, imagine I am that woman. Lucas, _encore_."

Thomas imagined he was holding Lady Mary, and she was asking him to be married to his work. He was going to make her pay for that. He pressed himself against Garland, wrapped one arm around his back, leaned over, and pressed his cheek to Garland's face and danced.

They danced a bit longer this time before Garland stopped. "Better. I see you have the imagination of an artist." Garland could see that Thomas was flattered. "Imagination is not enough! Next you must take control of the tempo. You're letting the music push you along, and that's ordinary. That's how everyone dances. You must dance as slowly as you can to make the music resonate in your body." Thomas smiled. That's how he thought about making love. "Thomas! Are you paying attention? It won't work unless you fill the movement."

"Fill the movement? I don't know what that means."

"I'll show you. Lucas, _encore sans vie_." Lucas played the same tango at the same tempo, but he played listlessly, and that's how Garland danced with his imaginary partner. "Lucas, _avec la vie_." Lucas reinvigorated the music. Garland slowed and elongated his steps and infused them with passion. He made Thomas think of a jungle cat. "Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Let's try again. Remember. You are in charge of the tempo." The fast pace of the music confused Thomas, and his feet were at sixes and sevens. He tried counting, taking one step every four beats.

Garland pulled away sharply. "NO! You're thinking, Thomas, and that won't work. You're an animal devouring his prey. Animals don't count, and they don't think. They _do_! You are to destroy this woman! Now! _Maintenant_!" Thomas grasped Garland's wrist and pulled him in. He draped himself around Garland and slowly stretched his left leg forward, keeping tight contact with Garland's right leg. As he continued to glide slowly about the floor, he imagined Lady Mary melting into his body, endowing him with her position and power.

They danced for more than a minute before Garland pulled away. "You surprise me, Thomas." Thomas surprised himself. "After a bit more practice, you won't need the image of that woman, the poor dear." Garland chuckled and patted Thomas' bottom. Thomas pulled away sharply.

"What? That little pat?" Garland protested.

Novello had left his office to find his chocolates and was watching the lesson. He caught Garland's small indiscretion. "Don't play the innocent, Garland. If you require a bottom to fondle, there's always mine."

"I've seen yours, Ivor, and his is rounder."

Novello raised his eyebrows. "Is it?" He approached to take a better look, but Thomas quickly turned to face him.

 _This isn't Ivor Novello's flat. I've been committed to a mad house!_

Novello could see that Thomas was not amused by their behaviour. He slipped his arm around Thomas' shoulders. "I'm afraid Garland can't resist your charms. Shall we toss him out on his ear?"

There was something exhilarating about being at the centre of Novello' attention. "I'm being too sensitive," Thomas replied apologetically. "I'm not at Downton, after all."

"I've known Garland for a long time, and you're _not_ being too sensitive." Novello turned and waggled his finger at Garland. "Behave!" He headed toward the back of the flat and called out, "Bobbie, where are my chocolates?" He put his hand on his own backside and frowned. "Bobbie, is my bottom too flat?"

Garland refocused his attention on Thomas' tango and gave him more pointers. Thomas was beginning to enjoy himself, and too soon it was time for Garland and Lucas to leave for their next appointment. Thomas thanked Garland. "I must say, Garland, your dancing is ... I've never seen anything like it. You could be a professional."

Garland laughed and shook his head. "I studied my entire childhood to be a ballet dancer, but when I reached adulthood, I was too short. My parents are tall, and I'm short. I'm a choreographer and dance teacher; that's all."

Thomas realized that Garland was another man whose destiny, like his own, had been redirected because of a whim of nature. He felt a sudden kinship with the man and silently admonished himself for judging him too quickly.

Soon after Garland and Lucas left, Lloyd Williams arrived. Lloydie, as Novello and Bobbie called him, had been Novello's secretary for two years now and managed his household staff. Thomas could see that Bobbie, Lloydie, and Morgan created a protective shell around Novello. Like the Crawley's, Novello never thought about his everyday needs; others did that for him. But unlike the Crawleys, when Novello's coffers were empty, he could use his talents to fill them again.

* * *

As Thomas washed his hair, he congratulated himself on making good use of his time in London. He had asked Morgan to teach him to drive, and Morgan seemed happy to oblige. He probably enjoyed having conversations of his own for a change. Each day, Morgan drove Thomas outside the city limits and gave him a lesson. While they were returning from their first outing, Thomas spotted public tennis courts. Thomas enjoyed athletics and wanted to watch the players. He had never seen a tennis match in person or even held a racket. Morgan left Thomas at the courts while he drove to a shop for sandwiches.

Thomas selected the court that seemed to have the most capable players, two young men, and sat on a bench to watch. Thomas tried to deduce the rules as the game progressed. Tennis appeared to be demanding but not complicated. Morgan returned with a bag of sandwiches and sat with Thomas. The players soon relinquished the court to two women awaiting their turn. They all seemed to know each other. The men shook hands, and one left. The other approached Thomas and Morgan. He was tall and skinny with dark hair and a long thin nose. He made Thomas think of an undertaker until he smiled broadly. "I'm Henry. Do you fellows play?"

Morgan shook Henry's hand. "I'm Morgan. I'm afraid I'm not much for sports."

Thomas shook his hand, too. "I'm Thomas. I've never played, but I'd love to learn. Would you like a sandwich?"

"Certainly! I'm famished." Henry ate two sandwiches in quick succession, much to the amusement of Thomas and Morgan. He kept up his end of the conversation between bites. "I can teach you to play if you like, Thomas. I can borrow a racket for you, but you'll need Plimsolls."

Thomas was surprised by the friendly offer and picked up Henry's racket to get the feel of it. "Tomorrow?"

"I promised to help wallpaper my sister's parlour tomorrow. That's her playing now." It was easy for Thomas and Morgan to pick out which of the two women was Henry's sister. She was tall, bony, and beak-nosed like her brother. "Can you meet me on Wednesday around 2.00?"

Thomas knew he'd be free because Novello had a matinee on Wednesdays. He glanced at Morgan for confirmation, and Morgan nodded. "Yes, I can meet you. It's kind of you to offer."

Henry laughed, "Not so kind. Bring sandwiches!" He picked up his racket and waved at his sister. "I've got to run. Don't forget the shoes. Wednesday at 2.00!" He took off with his racket in one hand and half a sandwich in the other.

Morgan took Thomas to a shop where he could buy the necessary shoes. They returned to the flat just in time for tea. Novello introduced Thomas to his visitor, Eddie Marsh. He told Thomas that Marsh was an important patron of the arts, especially poetry, and had been a great friend of his since the war. Thomas could see that Marsh was the fatherly type, no doubt another man who guarded Novello's welfare. Later, Morgan told Thomas that Marsh had been in civil service for years and was personal secretary to the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

"What's in the package?" asked Novello.

"Plimsolls. I'm going to learn to play tennis," reported Thomas happily.

Novello grimaced. As far as he was concerned, there were only two acceptable reasons to sweat: dancing and sex.

* * *

As Thomas pulled himself from the tub and wrapped a thick towel around his waist, he recalled his debut, as Coward had called it, the previous night. He and Novello had prepared after breakfast under Garland's artistic eye at a rented rehearsal space. Thomas had never been inside a rehearsal hall. As they walked down the corridor to their assigned room, Thomas heard an aria and Shakespeare and jazz trombone coming from the various rehearsals and auditions in progress and thought it was exciting. Their room was empty except for a piano and a few chairs. One of the walls was covered in mirrors, and there were horizontal poles attached to the other walls. As Lucas lumbered to the piano, Thomas asked Novello what purpose the poles served.

"Garland, would you show Thomas how to use a ballet barre."

Garland smiled. He placed one hand lightly on a barre and executed a series of ballet exercises that began with knee bends. At one point, he tapped one pointed foot against alternating sides of his other ankle so quickly that Thomas couldn't follow the movement. Garland ended with a series of high kicks to the front, side, and back, keeping both his posture and his legs perfectly straight. Thomas was beginning to appreciate Garland's athleticism.

"Enough of my preening! We're wasting time that you can ill afford. Come! Stand together." Thomas and Novello quickly obeyed Garland's order. "Ivor, he's taller than you. He must lead!"

Thomas was confused. "Lead? I thought we were dancing with women."

"We are," assured Novello. "I asked Garland to give us some sort of novelty so we'll stand out. I want everyone to appreciate you, darling."

"Novelty?" Thomas hoped he would be able to reclaim his dignity when he returned to Downton. Clearly, he had not brought it to London.

Garland explained his concept. "You will remain back-to-back for the entire dance. You may bend toward your partners, but your lovely bottoms must remain together. I would show you, Thomas, but I'm forbidden to touch you there."

Thomas chose to ignore Garland's remark. "How can we dance with our partners if we can't move away from each other?"

"Ivor will shadow you. Whatever you do backward, he will do forward. Whatever you do forward, he will do backward. But we don't want to see you lead, Thomas. You and Ivor must appear to be of one mind."

Now Novello was confused. "But Garland, darling, how can Thomas lead me if his arms are around his partner?"

"Ha! That is a benefit of dancing slowly. It gives you time to feel his movement and follow suit." Garland was quite pleased with himself. "We'll work out some signals to help ... signals that can't be detected by onlookers. A little press from Thomas' left shoulder means he's going to begin backward on his left foot. That means you will begin forward on your right, Ivor. A press from Thomas' right shoulder means he's going to begin forward on his left foot."

"So I would begin backward on my right?" asked Novello.

"That's right. Thomas, we'll set signals you can give Ivor by pressing against him with your head, your calves, even your bottom that I can't touch."

Thomas threw up his hands in exasperation. "For pity's sake, touch it already!" he shouted.

Garland, Novello, and Lucas stared at Thomas. Garland sighed with mock chagrin. "Well I can't now! You've killed the romance."

"Well, I can!" Novello put his arms around Thomas, planted both hands on his backside, and gave him a squeeze. "It _is_ rounder than mine!" he declared.

Thomas stood there, unsure what to do next. Should he go back to the flat, pack his bag, and take the next train to Downton? Garland and Novello seemed oblivious to his distress and began to laugh. Even Lucas was bent over the keyboard in a fit of gorilla laughter. When Thomas saw Lucas' hulking body convulsed over the piano, he began to laugh too. Soon the entire room shook with hilarity.

Garland calmed himself and wiped his eyes. "Enough nonsense. If you're going to dance tonight, we must get back to work." The rehearsal resumed, but Thomas' inhibitions had been destroyed, and he was game for whatever came his way.

When their partners arrived, Thomas was stunned to find that he would be dancing with Gladys Cooper. He had met her briefly the night before and knew she was a close friend of Novello's. Still, he could not believe she had agreed to be part of this foolishness. He did not yet understand the lengths to which actors would go to be noticed.

Garland was more concerned about Novello's partner, Constance Collier. Because Novello would be shadowing Thomas, he would be leading with his right leg, and Constance would be following with her left, in reverse of the norm. But the slow tempo that Garland demanded worked in their favour. It was a gift of time to correct any error before it was detected.

* * *

Thomas was starving by the time the smell of sausage reached his door. He had dressed in his most casual clothes and laced up his Plimsolls. After breakfast, he was meeting Henry at the tennis courts. At least, he hoped he was. They had never exchanged phone numbers, so Henry had no way to contact Thomas should he have to cancel.

Thomas was certain he heard Novello say "hush" as he opened his bedroom door. He joined Novello, Bobbie, and Lloydie at the table and found a newspaper sitting on his plate. It was opened to a photo of Novello with another man. He looked up and smiled at Novello, who was calmly drinking his tea. Thomas thought Novello's picture must be in the paper often and wondered what was special about this one. Morgan, who was leaning against the wall and smoking, tilted his head toward the paper. Thomas took a second look and realized that he was the other man in the photo. His heart began to pound.

"Read the article, Thomas. It couldn't be better if I'd written it myself," chuckled Novello.

Thomas read the article. He felt as though he had fallen into some warped fairy story. His head began to spin.

Novello reached across the table and took Thomas' hand. "Darling, are you quite well?"

"Have I received a telephone call?" Thomas asked weakly.

"No," answered Lloydie. "Are you expecting a call?"

"If I were sacked, I think someone would call."

Novello squeezed Thomas' hand. "Calm down, Thomas. They're not going to sack you for this. The article doesn't name you or Downton. The Crawleys probably didn't even see it."

"Oh, they saw it. I know they saw it," replied Thomas.

"Can you give your friend a ring? John Bates? He can reassure you."

"John doesn't have a telephone, but I can ring my office. Someone on the staff should answer."

"Lloydie, please take Thomas to my office and help him place the call. I can't allow him to suffer like this." Novello was contrite. "I'm sorry, darling. I forget sometimes that the rules of your profession are so different from the rules of mine."


	33. Hello, Dahling

**CHAPTER 33: HELLO, DAHLING**

 **Early afternoon, Wednesday**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Bates was sitting at Thomas' desk writing cheques for the Abbey's household bills. He did not want to admit it, but he was glad he had taken notes as Thomas had insisted when he trained Bates to keep the books. Without them, Bates would not be able to remember all the minutiae of which Thomas was so fond. With them, he was able to write the proper notations in the cheque book, on the invoices, in the balance book, and on the correct ledger. It all seemed unnecessarily complicated to him.

Bates heard a knock and looked up to see Lady Mary. "May I offer you a chair, milady?" he asked as he scrambled to his feet.

"Mrs Hughes told me where to find you." Lady Mary sat in the chair Bates held for her. "What's all this, Bates?" she asked, indicating the jumble of papers over which Bates had been presiding.

"To put it in Mr Barrow's words, milady, if I can't carry a tray, then I must learn other skills to make myself valuable. Mr Barrow has been teaching me to pay the bills and keep the books. This is my maiden battle. I'll bring the cheques to the library for Your Ladyship's signature if I'm victorious."

"I hope you survive the campaign, Bates." Lady Mary was aware that Barrow had discarded the old division of duties among the servants as no longer practical. "So, our Barrow is a progressive at home even while he's taking London by storm."

"So it seems, milady." It pleased Bates that Lady Mary referred to Thomas as _our Barrow_. "Is there something I may do for Your Ladyship?"

"Did you read the newspaper story I sent down?"

Bates didn't say so, but he had tucked the paper in a desk drawer. He wanted the photograph and article as a keepsake. "I believe everyone at the Abbey has read it, milady."

"No doubt. Were you aware that Barrow would be seeing Novello when you asked me to give him a holiday?"

"I thought Mr Barrow needed a holiday, milady. How he chose to spend it is not my business."

"Come now, Bates," reproached Lady Mary. "After that Hopwood ordeal, I expected honesty between us. I know you and Barrow look out for each other."

"Yes, we do, milady," replied Bates quietly. "Would Your Ladyship have me choose between my loyalties?"

"I see. I've put you in a difficult position. I apologize, Bates."

"There's no need, milady. But if Your Ladyship would indulge my impertinence, does Mr Barrow have any cause for concern?"

Lady Mary smiled. "I suggest he steer clear of Lord Grantham for a bit. My aunt has telephoned him already to ask if Barrow came here from Russia."

"Lady Painswick? I'm surprised she recognized Mr Barrow from the picture."

"A good servant is invisible, is that it, Bates?"

"Well ... _yes_ , milady. That's how I was trained."

"My aunt has an excellent memory. It carries an extensive catalogue of every appealing man she's ever met, no matter his station."

At that moment the pantry telephone rang. "Pardon me, milady." Bates answered the phone, "Downton Abbey, John Bates speaking ... Thomas! How are you?"

Lady Mary looked up with surprise. Then she gestured to Bates to give her the phone.

"Wait a moment, Thom ... Mr Barrow. Lady Mary is here and would like to speak to you." Bates handed the phone to Lady Mary.

"Hullo, Barrow. I see from the newspaper that you're having a busy holiday ... Why are you apologizing? There's nothing unusual about dancing on holiday, is there? ... No, Lord Grantham may not see it that way ... Quite right, Barrow, no names were mentioned. And what if they were? Having a Russian prince as a butler, let alone one who dances with movie stars, would be rather glamorous, don't you think? Downton could use a bit of glamour."

Lady Mary covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "He says, _not a prince, only cousin to the czar._ "

"... Learning to drive? Good Heavens, you _are_ making good use of your holiday. You learning to drive, Bates learning to keep books ... I'm suggesting nothing of the sort, Barrow ... it's only that George and Sybbie miss you terribly, and I want to reassure them ... Yes, I'll tell them ... Then we'll see you at breakfast on Monday morning ... Yes, goodbye, and please, Barrow, be careful."

* * *

 **Ivor Novello's Flat**

When Thomas and Lloyd emerged from the office, Novello was waiting. It was time for him to leave for the matinee, but first he wanted to know that the previous night's antics had not jeopardized Thomas' employment.

Thomas seemed perplexed. "I spoke with Lady Mary. I thought she'd be annoyed, but she seems anxious for me to return."

"Of course she is!" replied Novello happily.

Still, Thomas worried. "I wonder why she was in my pantry."

Novello laughed. "Must you always find a hair in the soup, Thomas?" I'll have to fly now, or I'll be late. Morgan will come back for you after he drops me. Thomas ..."

"Yes?"

"I want you to know that the whole Russian thing wasn't my idea. It was Noël who made up that story." Novello whispered something in Bobbie's ear, gave him a kiss, and ran out the door with Morgan.

Now that Thomas knew his position at the Abbey was secure, he was ready to stuff himself with sausages. Bobbie sat across from him while he ate. "Tell me, Thomas, have you ever considered another line of work?"

Thomas appreciated the chance to speak about his future to someone outside his Abbey life who was as level-headed as Bobbie. "Does Ivor expect me to find a new life here? It's been exciting to see his London, but you and I both know I don't belong in his set. I'm not an artist. My only place in a theatre is in the audience."

Bobbie laughed. "It takes some actors years to discover they belong in the audience."

Thomas smiled politely and returned to the subject. "Some retainers have left service for the hotel business. I believe I have the background for it, but I don't have as much capital as I should. I made an unfortunate business decision after the war, and I was wiped out."

"There's always an investor under a rock somewhere," replied Bobbie. "How about a personal tour of the Savoy Hotel while you're here and perhaps Brown's? You could ask the managers questions ... get a feel for the demands of the hotel business."

"They would do that for _me_?"

Bobbie smiled. "They might do it for The Butler. It depends on how willing you are to exploit the publicity you've received. You've been given a gift, Thomas. You should make the most of it. It won't last long."

* * *

 **Later that afternoon**

 **Tennis Courts at Regent's Park**

Thomas waved when he caught sight of Henry standing outside the far court. Morgan held up the promised bag of sandwiches, and Henry came running. It was sunny and hot, and they quickly found a wilted couple who were likely to surrender their court soon.

While they waited, Morgan readied the Leica camera he kept in the car. He was anxious to try his hand at some action shots. Henry chomped on sandwiches and explained the basics of the game. He showed Thomas how to grip the racket and how to coordinate his stroke with the proper footwork. He explained the parts of the court and the rules of service. Thomas was familiar with score-keeping from the newspaper. "Why is it 15-30-40 and not 45?" he asked.

Henry shrugged. "Nobody knows."

When the court was theirs, Henry served so Thomas could practice simple forehand and backhand strokes. At first, Thomas felt as if there were some unseen hole in his racket. "You must keep your arm, wrist, and racket in a straight line when you swing and hit the ball flat for now," advised Henry, who was enjoying his chance to be teacher. Soon Thomas got the hang of a flat stroke, and Henry could see he was competitive. "You _must_ let the ball bounce on a serve before you hit it," he was forced to remind Thomas, twice.

Henry was impressed by Thomas' determination to return every ball, even when he landed on his knees and once on his belly. And he was astonished by how quickly Thomas righted himself when he did lose his footing. Several times, the two men were able to get a rally going. They played for well over an hour before Henry surrendered to the heat. "Let me buy you a pint," offered Thomas. "It's the least I can do."

Henry led them to a nearby pub, where the three were happy to be relieved of the sun. Thomas ordered them each a pint. "How is it that you're free during the days?" asked Henry.

"I'm on holiday. I'm visiting for the week from Yorkshire," replied Thomas.

"I suppose you've guessed from my uniform that I'm a chauffeur," added Morgan. My employer's working right now. I'll pick him up tonight. What about you?"

"I'm a milkman," explained Henry. "My work's done for the day. I'll go home from here and right to bed."

Thomas was about to ask Henry how long he'd been playing tennis when Henry gestured abruptly to a couple of young men giggling in the back. "It's queers like that who are ruining London. Ruining this country!"

Thomas and Henry looked at each other. "They're not hurting anyone," replied Morgan casually.

"Aren't they?" retorted Henry sharply. "They're undermining British youth, that's all! It's all part of the Jewish plot to take control."

"What?" Thomas was stunned.

"It's all in a pamphlet I have at home, _Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion_ ," proclaimed Henry triumphantly.

"That thing?" laughed Thomas uneasily. " _The Times_ debunked that as a fake years ago. There was never any such meeting of Jews."

"Is that so?" challenged Henry. He studied their faces suspiciously. "And what may I ask are your family names?"

Thomas glanced at Morgan. "Cohen," answered Thomas.

"Levy," replied Morgan.

"I knew it!" declared Henry. "The next thing I know you'll be taking out your lipstick!"

"Why," asked Thomas. "Do you think I need it?"

"You disgust me!" Henry stomped out of the pub with his racket tucked under his arm.

Before Thomas and Morgan had a chance to digest what had happened, Henry was back. He picked up his pint and drained it, grabbed the racket that he had loaned Thomas, and stomped out all over again.

"Are there many like him in London?" Thomas asked Morgan.

"I don't think so. But when the economy declines, people like him seem to crawl out of the woodwork."

"It's frightening."

"I don't think so, Thomas. Not really." Morgan leaned back in his seat and waxed philosophical. "When my father was a boy, there was no compulsory education. By the time I was in school, the leaving age was 12, and now it's 14. Think how educated the next generation will be. They won't be fooled by rubbish like the _Protocols_!"

"I hope you're right, Morgan. I truly hope you're right."

"Don't let Henry spoil your day, Thomas. How about your driving lesson? Today you tackle the streets of London. Are you ready?"

Thomas didn't think he'd ever be ready for the streets of London, in a car or otherwise.

* * *

 **Wednesday night**

 **St. Martin's Theatre**

Bobbie directed Thomas through the crowd to their box, where Thomas was surprised to find Coward already seated.

"I started this royalty nonsense," Coward growled. "Now, Ivor insists I see it through. In the future, I must remember to be dull when I speak to the press about anyone other than myself."

Thomas had come to St. Martin's to see Tallulah Bankhead in _They Knew What They Wanted_. He thought the view would be better from the stalls, but Bobbie reminded him that he was there to be seen and that necessitated sitting in a box. Thomas took his seat next to Coward, and Bobbie excused himself, promising to return before the opening curtain. Thomas and Coward had little to say to each and perused their programs. As Thomas pulled out his pocket watch to check the time, he thought he heard whispers of _The Butler_ emanating from the audience.

"Bobbie knows his stuff," remarked Coward.

"What stuff?" asked Thomas.

At that moment, Bobbie returned and sat next to Thomas. "Do you hear them?" he whispered. "I pointed you out to one person. Now everyone who has read about you in the paper knows you're here. Soon the entire theatre will be buzzing."

" _That_ stuff," replied Coward wryly.

Bobbie glowed with self-satisfaction. "Wait until you see the performance Tallulah gives at the curtain call."

Thomas was baffled. "Why would she agree to do it, Bobbie?"

"I've told you, Thomas. Publicity is a gift."

Thomas was relieved when the play began, and the chatter faded. He thought Bankhead was fine in the role but was disappointed that she did not wear the exotic costumes for which she was known. She was playing a waitress, and exotic fashion did not suit the role.

Before the play was over, Bobbie slipped out and returned with an orchid he had stored in a backstage refrigerator by arrangement with the stage manager. The final curtain fell, and the actors took their bows. After each actor had received his or her due, Bankhead stepped forward and faced Thomas' box. Thomas smiled graciously (he had practiced in a mirror). Immediately, a fresh wave of chatter broke from the audience. Bankhead curtsied to Thomas as if she were being presented to the King. The audience seemed to hold its collective breath. After completing the formality, Bankhead raised her hand toward Thomas with the greeting, "Hello, DAHling!" The audience roared.

Thomas stood and held up the orchid, posing majestically as Bobbie had instructed. He tossed the bloom to Bankhead who caught it, and another round of applause erupted from the audience. Bankhead held up the orchid for the audience to admire. "And Daddy thinks I _lost_ my flower!" she proclaimed in her husky voice, causing a new outburst. She called to Thomas. "Meet me in the car, dahling. If I'm late, be sure to keep your motor running!" Thomas smiled and bowed slightly, trying to tune out the audience's laughter. Bankhead's humour was not to his taste, but he supposed it had done the job.

Thomas left the box flanked by Coward and Bobbie. Morgan had been waiting in the corridor and brought up the rear. Thomas knew that he was only to nod and smile but not speak. Morgan had seen to it that the car was ready by the backstage door where a crowd was waiting for them. As Thomas stood by the car, programs were thrust in his face for him to sign. Bobbie handed him a pen, and he wrote, _To Dorothy_ , _To Harold_ , _To Lucy_ , or to whatever name was requested and signed his name, _The Butler_. Bobbie spoke for Thomas. "My friend wishes to thank you for your kind attention." When Thomas was asked his name, Bobbie replied, "My friend wishes to apologize, but he protects his name to protect his safety."

When Bankhead appeared, Thomas took her hand and kissed it regally while flashbulbs popped about them. Thomas followed Bankhead and Coward into the car, and Bobbie sat up front with Morgan.

Bankhead held out her cigarette for a light. "Tell me, dahling, how did you like my performance?"

"The one during the show, or the one after?" Thomas asked sincerely as he lit her cigarette.

Bankhead considered the question. "During, dahling."

"I thought you were convincing, but you would have done better if you were out of those costumes."

Bankhead rewarded Thomas with her throaty laugh. "That's what they all say, dahling."

Thomas was mystified.


	34. That Tendency

**CHAPTER 34: THAT TENDENCY**

 **Early afternoon, Thursday**

 **Ivor Novello's Flat**

Thomas knew it was the staff's job to take care of his clothes, but he had exacting standards and cleaned his more treasured items himself. After breakfast, he washed his red pyjamas and set them out to dry. When he finished, he went looking for Novello to ask what he should wear that night. They were going to a private party after Novello's show.

When Thomas walked into the parlour, he sensed that something was off. Novello's friend, Eddie Marsh, who visited regularly, was there complaining loudly to Bobbie about Novello's parents. Bobbie was commiserating while trying to ease Marsh out the door. Lloydie was instructing the staff not to clean Novello's room. Morgan, who was smoking and gazing out the window, turned as Thomas approached but did not smile.

"Where's Ivor?" asked Thomas. "I want to ask him about tonight."

"Ivor can't be disturbed at the moment," answered Lloydie in a hushed tone. "Perhaps he will be available at tea."

Thomas looked at Morgan who shook his head slightly. He looked at Bobbie who had failed in his attempt to jettison Marsh. Thomas motioned Morgan toward the door. "Eddie, may we drop you somewhere? Morgan has been teaching me to drive. Today, I'm learning to park on the street."

"No, dear boy, my car is waiting."

"Then we'll walk out with you."

As Thomas and Morgan ushered Marsh out the door, Bobbie mouthed a _thank you_. Once Marsh was on his way, Thomas turned to Morgan. "What's going on? Is there something wrong with Ivor?"

Morgan dropped his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it out with his boot. "In a manner of speaking. He has that tendency toward melancholy, you know.

"No, I didn't know."

"It can hit him hard. He's in his room. He'll come out when he's ready."

"Why was Marsh talking about Ivor's parents?"

"He blames them when Ivor gets like this. He's known Ivor and his parents for years and believes Ivor lacks discipline because his parents never inspired discipline. He sees himself as the father Ivor should have had."

"No one ever talks to Ivor when he gets like this?"

"No. Everyone here caters to Ivor, whether it's in his best interest or not."

"Morgan, let's skip today, if you don't mind."

"Whatever you say, Thomas."

Thomas returned to his room. From the moment he and Novello met, he thought they could not have been more different. Now he knew they had something in common. He made a decision, removed his sweater and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He returned to the parlour and found that Morgan was about to take Bobbie on some errands. Lloydie was staying behind and would be in the office in case Novello wanted anything.

As soon as the parlour was empty, Thomas walked quietly to Novello's room and knocked. "Ivor, it's Thomas. I'm opening the door." He waited a polite moment and entered Novello's room. The drapes were drawn, and Novello was sitting on his bed clutching a pillow to himself. He didn't look up. "Thomas, don't come in. Someone should have told you to leave me alone." His voice was flat.

"Someone did tell me."

"Don't come in then. I don't want to make a scene."

"Make a scene if you must. I have something to show you, and then I'll leave." Novello didn't answer. Thomas walked to the window and pulled back the drapes. "You'll need some light."

Thomas stood in front of Ivor and held out his arms. Novello glanced at Thomas and turned away.

"Look at my wrists, Ivor."

Novello turned and looked. He saw the scars on Thomas' wrists. He touched them gingerly. "When?"

"A year ago."

"So recent?" Thomas nodded. "Tell me."

"If you like." Thomas closed the drapes. Novello scooted to the far side of the bed, and Thomas kicked off his shoes. He sat on the bed, and leaned against the headboard. Novello dropped the pillow onto Thomas' lap and curled up with his head on the pillow. How Thomas envied Novello's sense of personal freedom. He touched Novello's thick hair and combed his fingers through the dark waves.

"Tell me," demanded Novello.

"It's not so easy. I'm not proud of the man I was."

"I don't care. Tell me."

"I was 17 when I was hired as a footman at the Abbey. I was different then. Angry."

"Why?"

Thomas never discussed the years between his mother's death and his arrival at Downton. "It doesn't matter." Thomas described how his choices over the years had made him a pariah at Downton.

"I couldn't see that others avoided me because of my behaviour. I thought it was because I was queer. So I answered an ad that said, _Choose your own path._ I came to London and paid a lot of money to be cured."

"Cured? Of what?"

"Of loving men."

Novello jerked up and stared at Thomas. He couldn't imagine choosing to be cured. He had always accepted his sexuality.

"First the cure failed. Then my life failed." Thomas told Novello about the months leading up to his suicide attempt and about his decision to slit his wrists.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes, but the pain of living was greater." Thomas told Novello about coming round and finding himself in the care of John Bates. "He probably didn't seem so to you, but he can be an intimidating man. Frightening, even. He called me his baby and kissed me, and I was terrified. I understand now that he was only trying to get my attention. I had sunk deep inside myself, and he was trying to pull me free."

"The same as when you showed me your scars."

Thomas smiled. "I suppose." He took hold of Novello's chin as Bates sometimes took hold of his. "John held my head like this when he asked me to promise never to try suicide again."

"Did you promise?"

"Yes. Now I want you to make the same promise to me. I don't want you ever to have scars like mine."

"All right."

Thomas frowned and tightened his hold on Novello. "Not all right. Promise me."

"I promise, Thomas." Thomas released Novello.

"How different we are," mused Novello. "Even to our sadness. It doesn't begin with loneliness for me. I've always had friends and lovers."

"Yes, but I'm guessing we feel the same when the sadness takes hold. It's harder for us to find that thing, that whatever, that will carry us through."

"Have you found it?"

"When I was young, more than anything, I wanted my own home and my own family. The day came when I understood that the life I wanted wasn't an option for me. Now I try to find purpose in my work."

"Do you ... find purpose?"

Sometimes, but when I see John holding his baby, I get so ... it makes me ..."

"Yearn?"

"Yes, that's it. I yearn, and ... it hurts so, Ivor. I can't accept my fate. I've tried, but I can't." Thomas felt his lip quiver. Then he felt the touch of Novello's fingers on his lips. Novello scooted closer, and Thomas dropped his head to Novello's chest. They sat together in silence, taking comfort in the rhythm of each other's breaths.

Finally Novello spoke. "I've never wanted children."

Thomas chuckled. "No, you're the child in this house, and you're spoiled."

"I like it that way."

"I know you do. No one ever says no to you."

"You did, Thomas."

"That's right. I did, didn't I. Is that why I'm here, Ivor?"

Novello shrugged.

"You should hear no more often. It builds character," teased Thomas.

Novello grunted a dissenting opinion. They sat together peacefully for a few more minutes.

"Thomas, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"If you're lonely, then why do you make such a big thing out of a little fling? You're not some young woman protecting her virginity. Why are you so prim?"

"Oh dear, am I prim?"

"Yes."

"I'm not trying to be. I've told you, Ivor. I want to belong to another man and have that man belong to me and only me."

"That sounds positively dreadful!" Novello declared, and Thomas laughed. "Have you ever thought of making love to a man for one night only, with no concern, no jealousy, for the next day?"

"No, I haven't thought of it."

"Then think of it. That's all. Think of it."


	35. A Leaf Dancing

**CHAPTER 35: A LEAF DANCING**

 **Thursday evening**

 **Backstage at the Queen's Theatre**

Novello had placed a chair backstage from which Thomas could watch both the onstage and offstage action of that evening's performance of _Down Hill_. Thomas looked forward to seeing Novello in a live performance. Earlier that afternoon, he had been dismayed when Novello expressed second thoughts.

"Aren't you any good?" asked Thomas.

Novello's eyebrows shot up. Then he laughed amiably. "That depends on whom you ask." He put his arm around Thomas. "At the end of the play, my character wants to end his life by throwing himself in the Thames. Isn't it a bit soon for you to watch something like that?"

"Ivor, do you think I'm such a rube that I don't know the difference between playacting and reality? Do you think I'll run onstage and try to throw myself in the river, too?"

"I don't want it to upset you, that's all," replied Novello. "You bring out the daddy in me."

"I didn't know you had a daddy in you, Ivor."

"Neither did I." Novello gave Thomas a squeeze. "I have an idea. Why don't you watch the show from backstage? It will give you a different perspective of the work I do."

"And I wouldn't get as emotionally involved in the story, is that it?" But Thomas was intrigued by the thought of sitting backstage. "It might be fun to compare your work to mine. The parties and banquets at the Abbey are like theatricals."

"Certainly!" Novello thought the comparison was stretching it a bit, but he was to get his way and that was enough.

Thomas walked about backstage inspecting this and that. He had been told that he could look but not touch. The stage manager gave a 30-minute warning and instructed Thomas to take his seat. Immediately, the curtain was closed, and the front of the house was opened. Thomas listened to the audience talking and laughing and arguing while they settled into their seats. He wanted to peep through the curtain but remained in his chair as he had been directed. He was surprised by how loud the audience sounded from backstage and felt his stomach turn over, even though he knew the play was having a successful run.

Soon several of the actors stationed themselves near Thomas and prepared for their entrances. Novello was among them, wearing a muddied rugby uniform. Thomas was amused by the idea that Novello would ever play rugby. Some of the actors chatted or made jokes, some stood in stoic silence, and some recited their first lines. Novello smiled at Thomas, then turned his attention inward and bounced lightly on his feet.

The stage manager made one last sweep of the stage. He picked up a can from which he extracted something or other that looked like mud and applied it to Novello's legs and arms. Novello playfully dipped his finger in the can and ran a line of mud down the stage manager's nose. The stage manager smiled indulgently and silently shook his finger at Novello. He took his place beside the intimidating light controls and signalled the operator. The operator slowly brought down all the lights and the audience hushed. Thomas' heart pounded with anticipation as he sat for a moment in complete darkness. The stage lights came up brightly, and the play began.

The first setting was a boys school at which Novello was captain and star athlete, Roddy Berwick. After having a younger boy bring him a bucket of water, Roddy proceeded to wash his bare, muddied legs in full view of the audience, from his thighs right down to his toes. Thomas smiled as he imagined women in the gallery seats, as well as some of the men, straining their necks to get a glimpse of Novello's exposed wet limbs. He was certain he heard a chorus of girlish sighs.

The play was about Roddy's descent from school hero to cocaine-addicted outcast. Thomas found it difficult to swallow some of the plot twists. When Roddy's best friend got a shop girl pregnant, Roddy took the blame so that his friend, the son of a poor clergyman, wouldn't lose his scholarship to Oxford. _Not likely_ , thought Thomas. When Roddy left home, penniless and in disgrace, and fell in love with mercenary revue star, Julia Blue, he was able to woo her because he coincidentally won £40,000 in a Calcutta Sweepstakes. _Oh brother_ , muttered Thomas under his breath.

The play jumped quickly from scene to scene. Novella rarely had the luxury of changing in the privacy of his dressing room. He stood offstage where he was stripped down and dressed up in full view of the stagehands and other actors. Thomas suspected that Novello enjoyed it. Phyllis Monkman, who played Julia, also had to make a quick change and did so near Thomas, who tried not to look but was fascinated by the well-rehearsed magic of it all.

Thomas was impressed by the stagehands whose efficient transformations of the stage between scenes seemed like hasty silent ballets. He watched the prop master consult his clipboard before each actor's entrance. He handed the actor whatever prop would be required during the scene: a cigarette lighter, coins, an envelope, and so forth. Thomas wondered what would happen if the prop master were to make a mistake and the onstage action could not continue because a crucial prop were missing. If Thomas were the prop master, he would not be able to sleep at night.

Thomas was outraged by the scene in which Julia evicted Roddy from his own London flat after he had spent all his Sweeps winnings on her. Roddy continued his downward trajectory in a Paris restaurant, where he was paid to dance with older women. He nobly refused their tips, but he was not too noble to refuse the cocaine offered by one of the waiters. His descent bottomed in Marseilles where a sailor found him sleeping on straw outside the room of a prostitute and dumped him on a boat headed for London. Roddy was determined to end it all in the Thames but was saved by his old school chum, the same chum who had started Roddy on his downhill path.

Novello and Constance Collier had written the play under the pen name, David L'Estrange, to take maximum advantage of Novello's boyish appeal, and they had succeeded. But Novello succeeded as an actor as well. In spite of the far-fetched situations, he was able to pull Thomas and the audience into Roddy's story. When Roddy had been reduced to nothing and was prepared to destroy himself, Thomas was forced to find his handkerchief and dry his eyes.

As the final curtain fell and the actors prepared to take their bows, Morgan appeared out of the darkness and tapped Thomas on the shoulder. He motioned for Thomas to follow him. "Ivor wants you tucked safely in his dressing room before the audience leaves. He doesn't want any cars following us tonight."

The previous night, two cars had followed them all the way from St. Martin's to the Queen's to the Savoy Hotel. "I don't think anyone will recognize me tonight. Not without my evening clothes."

Morgan shrugged, "Why take a chance?"

* * *

 **Ivor Novello's Dressing Room**

Thomas and Morgan had not been waiting long when Novello opened the door. "Good audience tonight," he remarked. "Where's Bobbie?"

"He said he has other plans tonight," replied Thomas.

"Right," replied Novello as he sat at his makeup table. "Well? Are you going to keep me in suspense? How did you like my little show?"

Thomas suddenly felt shy in front of Morgan and did not respond. Novello was crestfallen. "You didn't like it." He tapped his ear. "Come, whisper it to me. Tell me the truth."

Thomas stood behind Novello, and addressed his image in the makeup mirror. "Some of the story was difficult to believe, but I believed _you,_ " he reported softly. Then he brought his mouth to Novello's ear. "You made me cry a bit."

Novello was touched by Thomas' sincerity. "Not too much I hope," he whispered back. Thomas smiled and shook his head.

Thomas was pleased when Gladys Cooper knocked at the dressing room door. He liked Cooper. Many thought she was the most beautiful woman in England, and Thomas had expected a conceited and empty-headed flapper when they first met. Instead, he found Cooper to be congenial and intelligent. When they sat together his first night at the Savoy, she asked him about his work and seemed genuinely interested. They both were a bit more reserved than the rest of Novello's crowd, and she quickly put him at ease. The next night, he felt proud to be her escort. He could see why Novello adored her.

Morgan had delivered a hamper with their cold supper. Thomas removed the food and announced each item as he set it on a table. "Soup." He opened the container and took a sniff. "Palestine soup, I believe ... tongue ... mayonnaise of fish ... beetroot and celery salad ... Camembert. Your favourite, Morgan, mince pie."

Novello looked with surprise from Thomas to Morgan. "Tongue is _my_ favourite," he declared.

"I would expect nothing else," replied Thomas wryly and then blushed because Cooper was there. Morgan snorted, which made Novello and Cooper laugh. Thomas changed the subject. "Where are we going tonight?"

"A young photographer is having a small bring-a-bottle party. He lives in Paddington with his mother and sisters. They're gone for a couple of days, and he wants to let down his hair. But only to the shoulders, darling. There's no need for you to worry."

Thomas ignored Novello's teasing. "A photographer? You mean he does portraits?"

"Yes, but not ordinary portraits. His photography is art."

"Don't photographers take pictures of whatever's in front of them? How is that art?"

Novello smiled at Thomas' naiveté. "Perhaps he'll show you his portfolio. I'd like to help him. The poor thing's father has him working for a cement contractor."

* * *

 **The Beaton Residence**

After they had their fill of supper, Morgan dropped Thomas, Cooper, and Novello at 61 Sussex Gardens. The house was tall and narrow. As they found their way to the upstairs drawing room, Thomas could hear a gramophone. Most of the guests were men, although in some cases it was difficult to tell. Thomas was surprised by the theatricality of the decor. The mouldings in the drawing room were painted gold, and the taffeta curtains were a jarring apple-green. A portrait of a woman was mounted above a heavily carved Irish console table. Novello said the woman was the photographer's mother.

"There he is!" shouted Novello above the noise, steering them toward a young man sitting on a carved and gilded armchair.

When their host caught sight of Cooper, he stood. "Gladys, I'm delighted to see you. I had no idea you were coming."

"I'm here with Ivor," Cooper explained, handing Cecil a bottle of champagne.

Cecil turned to Novello. "Ivor, I didn't think you'd come. I thought we'd be too tame for you ... and I'd like to keep it that way," he added pointedly.

"I don't know what you mean, Cecil," Novello protested, handing him a second bottle of champagne. "Thomas, this is our host, Cecil Beaton. Cecil, this is our dear friend, Thomas Barrow."

Thomas and Cecil shook hands, and Thomas held up a third bottle of champagne. He guessed Cecil to be in his early 20s. He was slender and pale, and Thomas wondered if he had ever stepped outdoors.

Cecil gestured to the back of the room. "I've put out a selection of records for dancing. And by dancing, I mean _dancing_ , Ivor."

"Of course, Cecil. What else?" answered Novello as he and Cooper turned to mingle with the other guests.

"Ivor tells me you're a photographer, Cecil. May I see your portfolio when it's convenient?" asked Thomas.

"Are you an artist?"

"Oh no," replied Thomas. "I'd like to see why Ivor says your photography is art."

"Does he?" Cecil glanced at Novello who was already engaged in lively conversation. "I'd be happy to show you, Thomas, after I've taken care of this champagne. I never turn down a chance to proselytize for the cause."

"Let me help you," offered Thomas.

After they left the champagne in the kitchen to chill, Cecil led Thomas to his bedroom where he had left his portfolio. Thomas stood in the doorway in shock. The walls were painted a peppermint colour with enormous stylized lilies. A small four-poster bed was draped in scarlet and gold, and the bedspread was bright pink satin with gold trimming. The furniture was light pink, and the carpet was blue. _How could anyone sleep in a room like this_? thought Thomas.

"Here it is." Cecil turned on a nearby lamp.

Thomas opened the book and slowly flipped through the pages. He had never seen photographs like this. "What's that material?"

"Cellophane."

"Who are these women?"

"My sisters, Nancy and Baba."

"You use them as though they were objects."

Cecil laughed. "That's what they say. What's your verdict, Thomas? Is it art?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Why?"

Thomas thought for a moment. "Because you don't want me to see the person. You want me to see your opinion."

Cecil smiled. "Interesting. What word would you use to describe my work?"

"Luminous."

"Yes ... well ... another word ... more personal."

"Disturbing."

"Really? I haven't heard that one before."

Cooper appeared in the doorway. "You're missing all the fun, Thomas." She took Thomas' arm. "Let's join the others." His curiosity satisfied, Thomas was glad to be rescued from Cecil's peacock bedroom.

As Thomas and Cooper returned to the drawing room, Thomas saw a familiar face. It was Lucas sitting on the sofa with Garland perched on his knee as though he were a ventriloquist's dummy. Thomas had assumed their relationship was professional. Now it occurred to him that they were lovers, a thought that made Thomas chuckle. "How does Cecil know Garland and Lucas?" asked Thomas.

"They have friends in common." replied Cooper. "Garland did some choreography for Diaghilev once, and Cecil dreams of designing costumes and sets for a Diaghilev ballet. He hopes Garland will give him an introduction."

A fox trot was playing, and Thomas smiled as he watched couples navigate the room. He had never seen men dancing together as romantic couples. Space was tight, but no one cared.

Novello stood by the gramophone looking through records. When the music ended, he played a waltz. "Garland, Lucas, show us how it's done."

Garland whispered something in Lucas' ear and stood. Lucas lumbered to his feet, and the other couples stepped to the side. Thomas could not imagine Lucas dancing and watched in uncomfortable anticipation of a disaster.

Garland gazed at Lucas over his shoulder, raised one arm, and turned once in time to the music. In one easy, unbroken movement, Lucas took Garland's arm in one hand, placed his other hand on Garland's back, and swept him over his head as he turned in place. Thomas gasped.

Lucas lowered Garland lightly to the floor, and the two bowed deeply to each other. As they straightened, they each assumed a formal waltz posture but did not make contact as they circled each other and the furniture. At last, they came together, and Lucas placed his hands on Garland's waist. He slowly lifted and lowered Garland, again and again, giving the impression that Garland was a leaf dancing in a gentle breeze. Garland's movements weren't flowery but simple and elegant. Thomas was astonished and envied the couple's grace.

Lucas and Garland separated and took other partners. Novello approached and drew Thomas close. "Shall we?" Novello allowed Thomas to lead because that was all Thomas knew. As more couples danced, the space became impossibly cramped, but Thomas danced merrily with Novello and kissed his cheek when the music ended. Thomas could not recall another time since he was a young boy that he had felt so free. Novello was delighted to see Thomas beaming. "We'll tango later," he promised, giving Thomas' bottom an intimate pat. Thomas nodded happily.

7


	36. One Swan and One Adroit Little Duck

**CHAPTER 35: ONE SWAN AND ONE ADROIT LITTLE DUCK**

 **The Beaton Residence**

At the conclusion of the waltz, Lucas and Garland reclaimed their corner of the sofa. Thomas watched them and tried to remember if he had ever said so much as a hello to Lucas. He approached the sofa and shook Lucas' hand. "Bonjour, Lucas."

"Bonjour, mon adorable garçon," replied Lucas with a broad grin that displayed his enormous teeth.

Thomas shook Garland's hand. "It's good to see you, Garland. I confess that bonjour is the extent of my Manchester French. Would you please tell Lucas how happy I am to see him and how much I enjoyed watching the two of you dance."

Garland translated, and Lucas smiled and drained two glasses of champagne in friendship. Garland patted the cushion next to him. "I read about your Savoy triumph in the paper. I felt very much the proud papa."

Thomas accepted the dance master's invitation to sit. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, but we both know it was more your triumph than mine." Garland shrugged. "I'm curious, Garland. How is it that you're fluent in French?"

"I was born in Soho, but my parents are French, so French was my first language."

"I hope I'm not too forward, but how did you and Lucas meet?"

"You're never too forward when you ask a performer to talk about himself, dear boy. Lucas and I met professionally. I advertised for an accompanist, and he auditioned. I had no expectations. One doesn't look at Lucas and think, _There's an artist._ " Garland turned and gave Lucas an affectionate squeeze. "He surprised me. He played exquisitely and responded to my every request for a change in tempo or style and always without sheet music. He knew his business. But when I tried to interview him, he refused to speak. He handed me his card and left. If he hadn't been superior to every other candidate, I wouldn't have given him a second thought."

"What happened?"

"I needed an accompanist. I needed Lucas. So I went to the address on the card and found his sister there. She told me about him. He had been born and raised in Lille. When war was declared, he enlisted."

"Was he suffering from shell shock? Is that why he wouldn't speak?"

Garland shook his head. "No. I had thought so too, but he had survived the trenches well enough. Perhaps you know that Lille was occupied by the Germans during the war." Thomas nodded. "While Lucas was at the front, the munitions depot in Lille exploded. Lucas' home was flattened, and his father, mother, and two younger brothers were killed. Only his sister survived. She was married and lived on the other side of some factories that shielded the rest of the town from the blast. When news of the family's fate reached Lucas, he was devastated."

"I should think so." Thomas turned to Lucas, who smiled and nodded, and Thomas smiled and nodded in return.

"After the war, the sister and her husband moved to London, and Lucas came with them. What can I say? I hired him on the spot. He wouldn't speak for the first year I knew him. Then one day I told him that I loved him, and he spoke."

"What did he say?"

"He said, _I'm hungry._ "

"You're joking!"

"I swear I'm not. But after three helpings of cassoulet, he told me that he loved me too." Garland took Lucas' gorilla hand in his. "We've been a couple for six years now."

Thomas was silent as he absorbed Garland's story.

"I can see there's something on your mind, Thomas. What can I do for you?"

"Garland, may I ask you a personal question?"

Garland smiled. "My darling boy, when I've patted a man's bottom, he's entitled to ask me whatever he likes."

"Garland, are you and Lucas ..."

"What? Go ahead, Thomas, ask."

"Are you faithful to each other?"

Garland laughed. "Before I met Lucas, I was an animal. I wanted anything that wasn't wearing a skirt, and I was happy in my pursuits. Why not? But after I met Lucas, my old ways held no pleasure for me. I know I'm a terrible flirt. It's habit, I suppose. The truth is, I never wander. Why would I? Lucas is all I need."

Thomas sighed. "I envy you, Garland."

Garland patted Thomas' cheek. "You're a sweet boy, Thomas. Perhaps the right man will come along for you, and perhaps he won't. Either way, you must live your life, and either way, you're entitled to some fun. Why are you sitting with two old dogs like us when you should be dancing?"

Thomas looked at the other couples. "What if someone wants to lead? I won't know how to follow."

"There's nothing to it, Thomas. You begin everything with your right leg, that's all. What are they playing? A foxtrot? Come, I'll show you."

Garland may have been small, but when he took the lead, Thomas knew who was in charge. At first, Thomas couldn't remember to begin on his right. He was afraid he would trip and squash Garland like a bug. But Garland was patient, and soon the two were gliding together like two swans. Well, one swan and one adroit little duck.


	37. This One Is Ours

**CHAPTER 37: THIS ONE IS OURS**

 **The Beaton Residence**

Buoyed by Garland, Thomas circulated among Cecil's guests, dancing, talking, and listening. He listened more than he talked. He did not have much to say on the subjects of art or fashion or theatre. He had never heard of Edith Sitwell and her megaphone-delivered poems that were all the rage among Cecil's Cambridge friends. He was not full of droll stories. But the guests to whom he listened attentively and addressed thoughtful questions declared him a lovely man and exceedingly clever.

Several of the men Thomas met had invested considerable energy into cultivating eccentric personalities. Some even wore rouge and lipstick. Thomas was determined not to judge anyone by appearance but was amused by these eccentrics who all looked alike. In fact, he had mistaken one of them for Cecil. The young man was polite about the mistake.

"I'm Boy. Boy Le Bas. You're not the first to confuse me with Cecil."

"I beg your pardon, Boy. The difference is obvious now that I see your face." (It was not obvious, but Thomas did not want to embarrass the young man.) With some back and forth, Thomas discovered that Boy expected to launch a career as an artist. He said his work was inspired by Cézanne. Thomas seized the opportunity; at last he could show that he was not a complete ignoramus. "You're a cubist then?"

"Heavens no!" Boy chuckled and shook his head as he walked away. "A cubist ... in 1926 ... a cubist!"

Thomas sighed. Perhaps he truly was a rube. He glanced about for Cooper and Novello and realized that he had lost track of them. He circled the room and found Cooper standing alone on the balcony. "May I join you, Glads?" He called her Glads now, and she called him Thoms.

Cooper nodded. "I needed a respite."

Thomas gazed at the street and noticed a lone figure leaning against a lamppost. He realized it was Novello. "Again?" he asked quietly.

"You know?"

"Yes, it happened earlier today."

"Don't worry, Thoms. He'll be up here in no time, cheerier than ever," reassured Cooper. "It's been a difficult week for him."

Thomas was alarmed. "Because of me?"

"Certainly not. He's enjoyed showing you his London."

"What then?"

"Parties and nightclubs can be difficult for him. He used to go out almost every night with Bobbie, but these spells became too frequent. Now, he prefers get-togethers at his flat. He orders food from the Savoy and entertains all night. When he must, he takes sanctuary in his room, and Bobbie makes some excuse. Sooner or later, he recovers, and he's all smiles again and playing requests at the piano." Cooper patted Thomas' arm. "So you see, Thoms, it has nothing to do with you."

Thomas understood about the need to take sanctuary in one's room. "He didn't have to take me out every night. He didn't have to take me out at all."

"He's been having a wonderful time, Thoms, honestly. He loves making plans for you and sharing your excitement. He would have had these spells anyway."

"They're not spells, Glads."

Cooper took Thomas' arm and steered him back into the room. "He's coming back. Let's not embarrass him by watching. Let's have a dance."

Thomas and Cooper waltzed in stride with the other couples. "It's a relief to dance with someone who isn't trying to impress me," Cooper remarked. "Ivor and I have never had the same attitude towards our fans. We've had more than one row about it. Ivor would let his fans tear him to shreds if they were so inclined. I prefer to keep them at a respectable distance, except at the box office."

Thomas had witnessed a swarm of Cecil's guests' engulfing Cooper earlier like a plague of locusts. "Then why did you come with us tonight?"

"As a favour to Ivor. He knew Cecil would welcome me," she whispered. "And I could never bring myself to say no to Ivor."

"You mean Cecil wouldn't have welcomed Ivor?" Thomas whispered back. He couldn't imagine being immune to Novello's charms.

"Cecil doesn't _approve_ of Ivor. He's a bit of a prude in spite of his own inclinations."

The music stopped, and Cooper excused herself. "I must go, Thoms. I won't have the luxury of sleeping late tomorrow. I promised Joan and John a picnic before I leave for the theatre." It was difficult for Thomas to remember that Cooper was a divorcée with two children.

Cooper took her leave of Cecil and found Novello and kissed him goodnight. Thomas escorted her around the corner to her car. "Tell me, Thoms, how is it that Tallulah's play is good enough for a visit from The Butler, and mine isn't?"

"Ivor says you dislike publicity stunts. I can't say that I blame you."

"Bobbie says that your little stunt has secured you a private tour of the Savoy tomorrow. Visit my show as The Butler, and perhaps you'll be invited to tour Brown's as well."

"I'd love to see your play, Glads. I don't care about the publicity."

"I know, Thoms. But the publicity would be good for both of us. You tell Bobbie that I want you to come as The Butler tomorrow night. He'll make all the arrangements. You don't mind, do you Thoms?"

Thomas smiled. "I can't turn down a personal invitation from the beautiful Gladys Cooper."

They found Cooper's chauffeur, a Belgian named Gurney, playing cards with Morgan on the bonnet of Novello's car by the light of a streetlamp. Gurney jumped when he saw Cooper. "Omygawd, time to go!"

When Thomas returned to the drawing room, he thought it would be polite to ask the host to dance. He tapped Cecil on the shoulder and was relieved to find that it truly was Cecil and not Boy or one of the other look-alike eccentrics. Cecil accepted Thomas' invitation, and Thomas found Cecil to be light on his feet.

"There's something about you that's familiar, Thomas. Do you live in London?"

"No. I'm from the North. That's where I met Ivor."

"Is this your first time in London?"

"No, I usually come during the season with my employer, but Ivor has introduced me to people I would never meet in my occupation. I met Noël Coward my first night here."

"You seem like a decent sort, Thomas. You should be careful of the Ivor, Noël naughty set."

"Oh?" Thomas reminded himself that, at Cecil's age, he had been quick to judge and even quicker to vocalize his judgments.

Cecil continued his caveat. "They can be very nice, but they can be cheap and horrid."

"They've been very nice to me, Cecil. You should know that Ivor speaks well of you and your talent. He doesn't like to see you fritter away in ... what is it ... cement?"

Cecil winced. "Yes, cement. I'm working for a friend of my father's. Father insisted. I'm afraid I've offended you, Thomas. I was only trying to be friendly."

"Castigation isn't particularly friendly," advised Thomas evenly.

"I didn't mean to sound harsh." Suddenly Cecil pulled away. "I know why you're familiar. Wait here!" Cecil disappeared.

When Cecil returned, he held a newspaper under his arm and was carrying an immense scrapbook. He set the scrapbook on the cocktail table and opened it. "Here you are!" He pointed to a clipped newspaper photo – the tango photo of Thomas and Novello. "You're The Butler!"

Several guests gathered around the scrapbook, and someone removed the needle from the record that had been playing. Novello approached calmly as Cecil opened that morning's newspaper. "Here you are again!" Cecil set the paper on the table opened to a picture of Thomas kissing Bankhead's hand. "You don't sound Russian to me!" he accused.

"He was only 17 when he came to England. He's lost his accent," advised Novello lightly. "But he remembers his Russian. Don't you, darling?"

Thomas tried to match Novello's untroubled demeanour. "Da."

"Who here knows Russian?" asked Cecil.

As others shook their heads, Garland responded from the sofa, "Fortunately for me, I do. Diaghilev's English is terrible."

Cecil turned from Garland to Thomas. "Go ahead. Say something in Russian," he demanded.

Thomas looked at Novello who smiled confidently and gave the slightest of nods. Thomas took a deep breath and released it with the most Russian sounding gibberish he could concoct.

All heads turned to Garland. Garland appeared shocked. "Thomas, such language! You mustn't insult our host!"

Thomas sighed. He spoke some contrite nonsense syllables.

Again, all heads turned to Garland. "Thomas apologizes. He lost his head. He didn't appreciate being challenged. Now, gentlemen, perhaps we should give our Russian friend some breathing space. Let's have another record. Thomas, you owe me a dance."

The excitement subsided, and Cecil put away his scrapbook. Garland grinned as he danced with Thomas. "You never stop surprising me, darling."

After his dance with Garland, Thomas continued to mingle but noticed a distinct change in attitude. Two of the guests addressed him as _Highness_. "Please call me Thomas," he replied graciously. "What meaning do Russian titles have now?"

Eventually, the records came around to another tango. Before Thomas could invite anyone to dance, Novello pulled him aside. "This one is ours, Thomas."

"You lead, Ivor." Novello did nothing special, nothing theatrical. He danced intimately with Thomas, who was attuned to his every movement. Thomas forgot The Butler, forgot Cecil and Boy, forgot Garland and Lucas. He enjoyed giving himself over to Novello. He enjoyed the feeling of their bodies' fusing together. He felt himself melt into a sea of utter deliciousness.

"Let's go home," Thomas whispered to Novello when the music ended.

* * *

 **The Lift to Ivor Novello's Flat**

Thomas and Novello rode unaccompanied in the noisy lift. Novello stretched and leaned against the wall. "You and Morgan have become great friends, haven't you, Thomas?"

"He's been kind to me, Ivor, and I enjoy his company."

"Should I be jealous?" asked Novello casually.

Thomas propped his hand on the wall so that Novello was trapped in the lift's corner. "I thought you didn't believe in jealousy, Ivor."

"You misunderstand me, darling. I don't believe that _others_ should be jealous."

Thomas chuckled and ran his fingers through Novello's luxurious hair. "That doesn't seem quite fair."

Novello tapped a finger against Thomas' chest. "Thomas, how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"A glass of champagne."

The lift arrived at the top floor, and the two men exited. Bobbie had left lights on for them. As Novello turned off a lamp, Thomas embraced him from behind and nuzzled his neck.

Novello allowed the electricity of Thomas' touch to run through him. He wanted to respond but held back. "You had one glass of champagne and nothing else?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing else. I'm thirsty only for you, Ivor." Thomas pressed his mouth to Novello's ear. "Come to my room."

Novello closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensations Thomas was arousing in him. He gently pulled away and searched Thomas' face. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

"Yes." Thomas held Novello's head and kissed him generously on the mouth.

When Thomas allowed Novello to take a breath, he persisted, "No concern for tomorrow? No jealousy? No regrets?"

"No concern. No jealousy. No regrets," promised Thomas. "Is there always an exam beforehand?"

Novello did not answer because he was halfway to Thomas' room. Thomas laughed and strode after him. When he entered his room, he found that Novello had removed his coat and shoes and was unbuttoning his shirt.

"Why the rush, Ivor? Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm ready, Thomas, that's all. I've wanted this from the moment we met."

Thomas pulled Novello's hands away from his shirt buttons and assumed the task himself, slowly and deliberately. "Ivor, this is going to have to last me a long time. If we're going to do this, then we're going to do it my way."

"What way is that?" asked Novello as he eased Thomas out of his coat.

Thomas smiled. "The Garland Jobin way."

"What?"

"Slowly ... to make our bodies resonate."

"Slowly? Thomas, I want to please you, truly, but I'm excited. I don't think I can ..."

"Try."

Any thoughts that Novello had entertained of teaching a little something to the shy country butler quickly flew out the window. Bates had said that Thomas was no innocent, and he was right. He had no difficulty asking for what pleased him or asking what would please Novello. He knew his own body well and set out to learn Novello's. He quickly learned which gasp or grunt or groan meant _do that again_ and which meant _don't do that_ and which meant _don't ever stop doing that_. He learned what it meant when Novello hit his arms against the mattress three times.

Thomas delighted in bringing Novello to the brink and then retreating only enough to delay. _Delay_ was his watchword. "I can't wait any longer," pleaded Novello.

Thomas grinned. "Yes, you can. It'll be worth it."

And it was.


	38. The Butterfly Business

**CHAPTER 38: THE BUTTERFLY BUSINESS**

 **Friday morning**

 **Thomas' Bedroom  
Ivor Novello's Flat**

Waking up with a man in his bed was a new experience for Thomas. It was a luxury that had been denied him during his nights with Philip or Hopwood when he was forced to return too soon to his room at Grantham House or at the Abbey.

It was still dark outside, and Novello was sleeping peacefully. Thomas resisted the urge to kiss him or stroke his hair. He was afraid that if Novello awoke, he would desert Thomas for his own bed.

The early morning quiet was disturbed by the noise of the rickety lift. Novello stirred and opened his eyes. "That must be Bobbie," he murmured. He touched Thomas' hair, draped his arm over Thomas' chest, and settled back to sleep. Thomas did not know whether to feel happy or sad.

* * *

 **Later**

Thomas could smell coffee and sausages but was not ready to open his eyes. The satin sheet under his belly was too comfortable. He heard a rustling and squinted against the daylight streaming from the window. Novello was seated in a chair, wearing his robe and drinking a cup of tea. "What time is it?" Thomas croaked.

"Not quite noon."

Thomas rubbed his eyes. "It's going to be a challenge to adjust to Abbey hours come Monday."

Novello did not comment. He stood and stretched, and that made Thomas stretch too. Thomas remembered that he wasn't wearing pyjamas. "Cover me, Ivor," he commanded lazily.

Novello sat next to Thomas on the bed. He lightly stroked the length of Thomas' back. "I like your broad shoulders."

"Cover me, Ivor," repeated Thomas. "It's chilly this morning."

"I'll fix you a hot bath," offered Novello.

"Ivor, no! Cover me."

Novello pulled the sheet over Thomas. "You're not angry with me, are you, Thomas?"

"Of course not, Ivor, but perhaps you've forgotten our experiment."

"Experiment?"

"For me to make love to a man for one night only," quoted Thomas.

"Oh, _that_ experiment. And what's your conclusion, Mr Scientist?"

"That I'm not capable of random love."

Novello made no attempt to hide his disappointment. "You seemed capable last night. I thought you enjoyed yourself."

"I did, Ivor. That's the problem." Thomas turned under the sheet to face Novello. "It's a new day, and I want to make love to you again. Again and again and again."

"That doesn't sound like a problem to me."

"The problem, Ivor, is that I can't love a man for only one night, and you can't love only one man."

"Oh."

"How am I to face Bobbie this morning? And please don't tell me he doesn't mind."

"But he doesn't mind. What do you think his other plans were last night? What do you think he was doing?"

"It doesn't matter if Bobbie doesn't mind, Ivor. _I_ mind."

"Oh."

"Will you respect my decision?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

Novello leaned over Thomas and kissed him lightly. "Thomas?"

"Yes?"

"Are we still friends?"

"Do you still want me for a friend?" teased Thomas as he rolled back onto his belly and stretched again. "I'm not special now. I'm no longer the man who said no to Ivor Novello." Novello did not respond. "Of course we're still friends, Ivor. Your friendship means a great deal to me."

"Intimate friends?"

"Yes."

"The most intimate of friends?"

"No."

"What then?"

" _Nearly_ the most intimate of friends."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you can't kiss me when I'm undressed."

"Oh." Novello stood. "But I can do this." Novello pulled back the sheet and gave Thomas' bottom a sound slap before walking to the door.

Thomas laughed. "You're incorrigible."

"Am I?"

"Ivor, we're not going to argue, are we? It would be a shame for anything to spoil last night."

"No, darling, we're not going to argue. We're going to have breakfast. Don't forget you have an appointment at the Savoy today. Bobbie says to wear your blue suit."

* * *

Thomas came to breakfast in his robe and sat awkwardly across from Bobbie. When he dared to look up, Bobbie smiled kindly. "You worry too much, Thomas."

Thomas sighed. He didn't begrudge Novello and Bobbie a life that made them happy, but it would never be right for him. The experiment had failed.

After breakfast, Thomas bathed while he thought through the questions he wanted to ask during the Savoy tour. He donned the designated blue suit and found Morgan and Bobbie in the parlour. Morgan was standing in his underwear and grinning broadly. He had a folded towel tied to his chest, and Bobbie was in the process of wrapping Morgan's upper arms in folded pillowcases.

"Hullo, Thomas! I'm not your chauffeur today. I'm your bodyguard!" Morgan proclaimed.

"He thought he should have muscles to match his new occupation," explained Bobbie.

"Oh, that's what they are! Don't forget your legs or you'll be top-heavy," advised Thomas.

Morgan knew he was being ribbed but heeded the advice and insisted that Bobbie improve his thighs and calves too. Bobbie sculpted the many ersatz muscles with string until, satisfied, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Morgan squeezed his new physique into his old suit and hurried to Thomas' bedroom to study his silhouette in the full-length mirror. He returned with a confident strut.

Novello wandered onto the scene, took a gander at Morgan, and insisted on commemorating his beefy anatomy on film. Using Morgan's Leica, he took a photo of Thomas seated in a genteel manner with Morgan installed at his side, fists poised to flatten any attacker.

It was getting late, and Thomas wanted to put his tour questions in writing. He asked Novello where he could refill his pen.

Novello gestured towards his office. "There's a bottle of ink on my desk."

* * *

 **A few minutes later**

 **Novello's Office**

Novello rushed to the office, but it was too late. Thomas was standing at the desk with his pen in one hand and an envelope in the other.

"I didn't mean for you to see that, Thomas."

Thomas spun about. "Why are you writing to John?" he demanded.

Novello knew it was time to confess. "Sit down, Thomas." Thomas did not budge. "Please sit down, my darling." Thomas stared at the envelope for a moment and then sat. Novello opened a drawer and pulled out six more envelopes. "These are from John to me."

Thomas stared at the letters. "I don't understand."

"Remember when I wrote and asked when you were going to be in London?"

"Yes. I answered that the Crawleys weren't coming this season."

"I was a bit disappointed, but I wasn't going to do anything about it. After all, we didn't know each other that well, and there was always next summer. Then I received this." Novello handed Thomas the first letter he had received from Bates.

Thomas read the letter. The colour drained from his face. He read and reread one sentence.

 _I wonder if London might offer Mr Barrow a more fulfilling future._

Thomas felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. "He wants to be rid of me!"

"Is that what you think? That's not it at all!" Novello shuffled through the other letters. "Read this."

Thomas began to read but Novello impatiently pulled the letter from his hands. "Right there, Thomas. Read what he says right there."

Thomas read, " _...if that path takes him away from Downton, it will be my heart that suffers._ "

"The man loves you, Thomas. In his own way, he loves you."

Thomas pushed the letter away. "I shouldn't read any more. He didn't mean for me to see these."

Novello quickly returned the letters to the drawer. Thomas stood and walked aimlessly to the door. "Don't leave, Thomas." Novello sat on a love seat opposite the desk and patted the cushion next to him. "Sit with me, won't you?"

Thomas dragged himself to Novello and sat heavily.

"I know you have questions, Thomas."

Thomas shrugged.

"We're nearly the most intimate of friends now, remember?"

Thomas nodded slowly.

"There isn't anything you can't ask me, my darling."

Thomas was silent.

"If you don't ask me something, you'll make me feel foolish," Novello teased.

"Ivor ...?"

"What is it? Please ask me."

"Why did you want to show me your London ... _before_ John's letter ... why?"

"Two reasons, I suppose. You know the first. I was embarrassed by my behaviour when we first met ... you were so sweet about the whole thing. I felt I owed it to you."

"And the other reason?"

"Let me think how to say it." Novello fingered the buttons on Thomas' coat while he spoke. "There was a sadness about you, my darling. You seemed trapped ... yes, that's it ... as though you were caught in your own cocoon. I had the sense there was a butterfly in there somewhere. Still, I'm not in the butterfly business, am I? You see the selfish life I live. I needed John's nudge."

"You haven't been selfish, Ivor."

"No?" Novello chuckled. "Then I truly was inspired by John's letters. They were lovely."

"He's lovely," responded Thomas wistfully. "He's lovely, his family's lovely ..."

Jealousy gave Novello's heart a squeeze, and he laughed at himself because there was nothing else he could do. "You miss them, don't you?"

"I'm having a wonderful week, Ivor."

"But you miss them."

Thomas met Novello's gaze and smiled. "Ivor, I meant to tell you something last night."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I think your bottom's perfectly round. I wouldn't change a thing."


	39. So Short a Time

**CHAPTER 39: SO SHORT A TIME**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

 **Saturday morning**

Bates waited until he was seated at Thomas' desk before opening the envelope with no return address. He knew the letter was from Novello and saw no reason for members of the staff, especially the female members, to know that he and Novello were corresponding regularly. Now that he was alone, he slit the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of stationery. He hoped it would not contain the almost certain news that Thomas had chosen to remain in London.

* * *

 _My dear John,_

 _It will be with a reluctant heart that I dispatch Thomas back to Downton on Sunday. I did not expect to develop so much affection for him in so short a time. I dare say he is as dear to me now as he is to you._

 _He never says, but our boy is anxious to return home. He's had adventures here, but a day does not pass without him speaking fondly of you and your family. I confess that his affection for you and your wife and boy awakens the green-eyed monster in me._

 _I will be sending you a package next week. I know you will accept it graciously and not make me feel foolish. It will be a mere token of my appreciation for the role you played in arranging Thomas' visit._

 _I apologize for the late notice, but I would like to keep Thomas with me as late as possible on Sunday without worrying about train schedules. Would you be able to accommodate my chauffeur for one night if he were to drive Thomas home? Please telephone if it would not be convenient so that we may make other arrangements._

 _Your devoted friend,_  
 _Ivor Novello_

 _P.S. Do you know anything of Thomas' life before he came to Downton?_


	40. We All Need Luck

**CHAPTER 40: WE ALL NEED LUCK**

 **On the Road to Downton**

 **Sunday evening**

Morgan sat in the passenger seat as Thomas drove along the Great North Road toward Downton and chattered about his impressions of the Savoy Hotel. Morgan liked Thomas. He liked the way Thomas never did anything halfway. He appreciated that Thomas cared to ask his opinion on anything and everything. He remembered how constrained Thomas had seemed when they first met a week ago at Victoria Station. Morgan thought Thomas would not last one night at the flat. Thomas not only survived but the very next morning was willing to hand himself over to Garland. And he survived that too, which was no small thing.

It was on Friday, after Bobbie had transformed Morgan into a bodyguard, that he came to understand how important the Savoy tour was to Thomas. Morgan was perched on the edge of the sofa so as not to flatten his newly fabricated thigh muscles. Thomas was drilling him on the tour questions he had jotted in his notebook. According to Bobbie, Morgan was to be his verbal veil of mystery. Thomas was to keep his mouth shut and let Morgan do all his talking and put forth his questions. They had practiced subtle hand signals that meant, _yes_ , _no_ , _perhaps_ , _please repeat_ , _I don't understand_ , _I need the WC_ , and _get me the hell out of here._

When Morgan realized that the tour was serious business to Thomas, he offered to remove his mock muscles. He did not want to be a source of embarrassment to his new friend.

Thomas grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The two friends walked the short distance from the flat to the Savoy at the appointed hour. As they approached the foyer, Morgan dropped a pace behind Thomas. Thomas stood silently at the front desk, reservedly and regally Russian, while Morgan spoke for him. "My friend is expected by Mr Reeves-Smith."

"I'm Reeves-Smith," came a pleasant voice from behind.

Thomas turned, nodded his acknowledgment, and shook Reeves-Smith's hand.

Morgan knew that Reeves-Smith was Managing Director not only of the Savoy but of all the hotels in the Savoy Group. "My friend is gratified that you have taken time from your demanding schedule to meet with him."

"Mr Novello and Mr Andrews are great friends of this hotel. I'm delighted that they recommended our particular institution for your friend's tour." Reeves-Smith leaned close to Morgan. "Do you always speak for your friend?"

Bobbie had prepared a response for this inevitable question, so Morgan was ready and eager to reply. "I'm certain no person in London is more aware than you of aristocratic eccentricities."

Reeves-Smith smiled. "I certainly would be a failure in my position if I did not keep abreast of our clientele's more unusual and endearing traits."

"Then you'll understand when I say that my friend refuses to disgrace his adopted country by speaking its language before he has mastered all its intricacies."

Reeves-Smith nodded his understanding. "We have some native Russians among our staff who would be honoured to serve as your friend's translator."

"It is my friend who is honoured by your generosity, Mr Reeves-Smith. Sadly, he remains in mourning and has taken a vow not to utter one syllable of Russian until the monarchy of his beloved homeland has been restored."

Reeves-Smith surrendered the point. "Most commendable."

"Mr Reeves-Smith, during our time together, my friend would be pleased if you would direct yourself to him."

"Yes, of course. I beg your pardon." Reeves-Smith stood erect and spoke directly to Thomas. "Shall we take care of the publicity stills? Then I'd be happy to show you our ballroom or the Grill or whatever you like."

Morgan knew that Thomas was not particularly interested in another look at the ballroom or the restaurants. "My friend would be pleased to take care of the requisite photography as quickly as possible, but please understand, Mr Reeves-Smith, that this is not a casual tour. My friend has a sincere interest in the day-to-day operation of the Savoy, knowing it is the leader among modern luxury hotels. He has many questions."

"Perhaps if you shared one or two questions with me, I would know better how to proceed," suggested Reeves-Smith.

Morgan pursed his lips for a moment. "How do you keep track of which guest is in which room and which guest has which room reserved? How do you manage the guest ledgers? How do you know how much food to have on hand in the restaurants?"

Reeves-Smith smiled. "Now I understand. You don't want a tour. You want an apprenticeship in a nutshell."

Morgan read the concern in Thomas' eyes. "My friend begs your pardon, and I hope I didn't misspeak on his behalf. He didn't mean to suggest that he could learn your business in an afternoon. Rather he hopes to depart with a better understanding of the scope and nature of operating a luxury hotel."

"I'm pleased to have the opportunity to show off the hidden complexities of the Savoy to someone with genuine interest." Reeves-Smith assured Thomas. He caught sight of the photographer and waved. "Here's the photographer. He'll snap us shaking hands, and then I'll see what I can do about your questions."

Reeves-Smith was committed to a string of appointments that afternoon and could not guide Thomas and Morgan personally. Instead he made a few phone calls giving clear instructions to the various Savoy managers. As Thomas made his way around the hotel, each manager was to explain the purpose of his or her department and answer any questions.

Morgan was excited by what he and Thomas encountered. The Savoy was a universe unto itself. The hotel had florists and hairdressers, a Works Department, a power plant, and its own artesian well. Morgan had never seen a switchboard before or heard the discordant music of a fast-paced office ... clacking typewriters, ringing telephones, buzzing intercoms, and demanding voices. He was certain that no office in London was more fast-paced than the Savoy's Enquiry Office.

Morgan and Thomas met Walter Hore, the Assistant Secretary to the Company, who explained the ingenious audit and bookkeeping system he had devised for the hotel. They met Mrs Kate Butler, Lady Superintendent, an older woman who managed with aplomb each floor's housekeepers, chambermaids, and valets. They met Harry Craddock, the Head Bartender at the American Bar who had created a cocktail two days earlier in honour of Thomas. He called it _The Butler._ They met Francois Latry, maître chef of the restaurant, for whom the telephone was an essential tool in managing large parties. The Banqueting Manager would phone Latry to say that the diners had been seated or to provide whatever other cue the maître chef had requested so that he could fine tune the timing of his chefs, sous-chefs, and servers.

The last person they met was the manager of the Savoy Grill, Loreto Santarelli. Before they entered the Grill, Morgan whispered to Thomas that Santarelli was quickly becoming one of the best-known men in London. Morgan could see that Thomas was impressed by the tall, handsome Italian in his swallow tails. Santarelli told Thomas that he had begun as a waiter in Rome at the age of 19. Before that, he had been educated at a seminary. His family had expected him to become a priest.

"I wish English people wouldn't be so courteous," Santarelli complained, much to Morgan's and Thomas' amusement. "Sometimes I get quite annoyed. London is a gourmet's paradise now. Even Paris can't compare. Why has the Englishman this reputation for not knowing good food? Because the Englishman will never, never make a fuss."

Morgan was sorry to do it, but he was forced to remind Thomas of his promise to attend Cooper's show that night. Thomas shook Santarelli's hand as Morgan spoke for him. "My friend has found his visit to be informative and rewarding. He sincerely wishes you the best of luck although he is certain you will have success with or without luck." Morgan and Thomas exited the Savoy in a dignified manner until they thought they were out of sight. Then they dashed up the Strand to the flat so that Thomas could change into his evening clothes and Morgan could rush Novello to the Queen's Theatre and return in time to drive Thomas and Bobbie to the St. James'.

In the car, Bobbie delivered a message from Coward. He could not attend that evening's performance but would meet them later at the Savoy as planned. Thomas insisted that Morgan take Coward's seat in the box. Bobbie agreed, but once inside, he asked Morgan to sit at the rear of the box. "It will help create the illusion that you're Thomas' bodyguard," he whispered. Morgan assured Thomas that he would be able to see the stage perfectly well from the rear, and Thomas was satisfied.

Thomas retrieved his notebook from his breast pocket. Then, to Morgan's and Bobbie's astonishment, he pulled stationery, pen, ink, and blotting paper from his many pockets and set them on the floor. He opened his notebook to the list of Savoy staff he had met and began writing personal notes of appreciation. Bobbie objected, but Thomas promised to stop the instant the house lights dimmed, and he kept his promise.

Morgan sat happily at the rear of the box, muscles and all, making a show of scanning the theatre for Bolsheviks and potential assassins until the lights dimmed. The play was a comedy, _The Last of Mrs Cheyney_ , in which Cooper played the title character. At first, Mrs Cheyney appeared to be a society woman on a weekend visit, accompanied by her butler. As the first act progressed, it was revealed that both Mrs Cheyney and her butler were jewel thieves intent on stealing a £50,000 pearl necklace from their hostess. Morgan found the dialogue amusing, and he thought Cooper was sparkling.

During the two intermissions, Thomas picked up his pen and continued to write. In the second act, Mrs Cheyney and her butler were caught red-handed by Lord Dilling, played by Sir Gerald du Maurier, whom Morgan thought was very good. The rest of the play involved humorous attempts at blackmail, first a failed attempt by Lord Dilling and then a successful attempt by Mrs Cheyney.

At the final curtain, Thomas and Bobbie stepped out of the box, leaving Morgan to watch the fun. He applauded all of the actors, clapping as loudly as he could manage when Cooper took her bow. As soon as Cooper straightened, Thomas appeared at the edge of the stage, and the audience hushed. Cooper curtsied to Thomas, just as Bankhead had. When Cooper arose, Thomas strode across the stage and kissed her hand, eliciting many a sigh from audience members.

Morgan thought Thomas was convincing as a blue blood. He strode confidently to the side of the stage and extended his arm out-of-sight of the audience. When he brought back his hand, he was holding a black leash studded in rhinestones. At the other end of the leash was a black rhinestone collar around the neck of a frolicking white baby goat.

Morgan had told Thomas that Cooper was an animal lover and kept a small menagerie at Charlwood, her rented home in Surrey. Giving her a baby goat had been Thomas' idea, and Bobbie made the arrangements. As predicted, Cooper was charmed by the gambolling kid. She ran across the stage and picked up the little creature. "Do you know what I'm going to name it?" she asked the audience.

The audience shouted all sorts of suggestions, "Mrs Cheyney," "Champ," "Jack Hobbs," until Cooper raised her hand.

"I'm going to name it, Butler, of course," announced Cooper. The audience showed its collective approval with applause and laughter.

Morgan realized Bobbie would be looking for him. He left the box, ran down the steps, and found Bobbie backstage. He watched Cooper and Thomas walk offstage together with Cooper holding the leash. "Thoms, was this your idea?"

"Yes. Do you like it Glads?"

"Of course I like it!"

"Good," laughed Thomas, "because the damn thing pissed all over my trouser leg before I came onstage."

"Oh no," laughed Cooper. "You can't get into the Savoy in that state!"

"That's right! What do I do, Bobbie?"

As always, Bobbie was unruffled. "We'll figure out something. Gladys, do you mind dropping us at the flat after you've changed?"

"Of course not. Gurney should be waiting with the car now."

"Morgan, please deliver the little beast to Gurney, pick up Ivor, and bring him to the flat."

"Wait, Morgan." Thomas pulled envelopes from each of his pockets. "Please drop these at the hotel."

Outside, Morgan handed the little goat's leash to Gurney, who said, "Omygawd, Cuthbert won't like it!" Morgan knew that Cuthbert was Cooper's temperamental monkey who at times had bitten Novello, du Maurier, and even Cooper.

After Morgan picked up Novello and dropped him at the flat, he walked to the Savoy and handed Thomas' envelopes to Victor, the short, round reception clerk he and Thomas had met that afternoon. Victor asked Morgan to wait. He disappeared and reappeared carrying a pair of evening trousers. "Mr Novello telephoned and explained your little emergency. I believe these are the correct length for your friend."

Morgan grinned. "And to which gentleman do they belong?"

Victor shrugged. "That's not important. Returning them first thing tomorrow, however, is important."

A half hour later, Morgan followed Novello, Thomas, and Bobbie into the Savoy Grill. He stationed himself near the entrance and watched as the three men took their seats at Coward's table. There was no music or dancing in the Grill, only good conversation, good gossip, good food, and good wine. Bobbie had selected the Grill for that night's event because he knew Morgan's presence would not be tolerated in the restaurant where evening dress was mandatory. A waiter took the men's orders, and Novello turned to wave happily at friends seated at other tables.

Morgan knew Thomas was starving and felt his own stomach churn. Because of the hotel tour, they had both missed tea. Morgan squirmed impatiently until two men appeared from the waiters' entrance wearing overcoats. Their collars were pulled up and hat brims pulled down so that only their noses were visible. Morgan nodded to Bobbie, who alerted the others. As if of one mind, Novello, Thomas, and Bobbie stood and exited the Grill. Morgan and Coward accosted the two overcoated men and quickly manoeuvred them out whence they came.

"Let's see what the papers make of that little scene," chuckled Coward.

"I don't think anyone noticed," replied Morgan.

"Oh, they noticed. Believe me, they noticed."

Morgan bade goodnight to Coward and rushed to catch up with the others. He was stopped by Santarelli who had followed him out to the Strand. "Please tell your friend that I received his kind note. Would you deliver a message for me?"

"Certainly."

"Please tell him that he's not too old to make a career change. Yes, many of us at the Savoy grew up in hotels and restaurants, but his life in service makes him better suited to this work than he believes." Santarelli handed his card to Morgan. "He must write me with his questions, and I will answer them as best I can."

"He'll appreciate that, Mr Santarelli."

"And please, tell your friend that we all need luck. He'll need luck, too. What he won't need is this Russian ruse."

Morgan smiled. "I'll tell him."

"And tell him to consider the States. Americans love an upstart."


	41. The Man With No Trousers

**CHAPTER 41: THE MAN WITH NO TROUSERS**

 **On the Road to Downton**

 **Sunday evening**

"My stomach's grumbling. I don't think I'll last 'til Downton. Do you mind if we pull off and eat?" asked Thomas. "Doncaster must have a fish and chips shop."

Morgan laughed. "Please do. We don't want a repeat of Friday night."

Thomas smiled sheepishly. "No, we don't."

Thomas had chosen not to let his holiday be ruined by Friday night's mishap, and Morgan was relieved. He knew that Thomas was sensitive and tended to take these things too seriously.

Everything had been fine when Morgan arrived at the flat Friday after the staged exit from the Savoy Grill. He was ravenous and knew Thomas must be too. They hadn't had a bite to eat since their noon breakfast. Morgan found Thomas, Novello, and Bobbie sitting in their shirtsleeves, waiting for delivery of the meal Coward had promised to order for them. Novello was smoking, and Bobbie and Thomas were sharing a bottle of wine. Morgan poured himself a glass and topped up the others before sitting down. Thomas was rhapsodizing about the Savoy and absently filled his empty belly with wine as he spoke. Novello, Bobbie, or Morgan refilled his glass whenever one of them noticed it was empty.

At last, dinner arrived. Bobbie laughed as he opened each container. "Caviar, borsch, piroshkies, Russian potato salad, beef stroganoff, and honey cake. Noël's determined to carry this prank to its death."

Thomas and Morgan piled their plates and tucked in, washing down each bite with more wine. Suddenly Thomas pushed back from the table and groaned. Novello was sitting next to him. "Is something wrong?"

Thomas stood unsteadily. "I'm dizzy!"

Immediately Novello was at Thomas' side, supporting him. "Do you want to lie down?"

Thomas tapped Novello's mouth. "Shush, Ivor, not in front of Bobbie."

Novello observed Thomas' unfocused eyes and wobbly stance with keen disappointment. He didn't like drunkenness. He turned to Morgan. "Have you two been drinking? He's stewed!"

"Only this wine. I poured him a couple of glasses, that's all," replied Morgan.

"So did I," added Bobbie.

"There you have it. I did too." Novello wrapped his arm around Thomas' back to provide more support. "I should have paid better attention."

"I filled my glass twice," corrected Thomas, holding up two fingers. "I've had _two_ glasses!"

"No, darling. You've had four times that. It's a good thing Lloydie isn't here, or you'd be comatose by now."

"Then Lloydie should stay home!" declared Thomas.

"Morgan, could you help us please?" asked Novello.

"Yes, Morgan. Ivor needs your help!" commanded Thomas. "I'll help you, Ivor," he assured Novello as he leaned against him heavily. Morgan abandoned his dinner and draped Thomas' arm around his neck. Thomas smiled. "Hullo, Morgan."

"Hullo, Thomas," replied Morgan. Morgan and Novello walked Thomas to his room and sat him on the bed. Morgan knelt and removed Thomas' shoes.

"That's kind of you, Morgan. Isn't Morgan kind, Ivor?"

"Very kind," murmured Novello as he unbuttoned Thomas' shirt.

"See Morgan, you're _very_ kind. Very kind Morgan. Very kind Arthur Morgan. Very kind Arthur Walter Lionel Morgan."

"He knows your full name," noted Novello as he slipped Thomas' arms out of his shirt.

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Yes, Ivor, why?" Thomas took hold of Novello's shoulders and shook him rhythmically. "Why, why, why?"

"Morgan, _I_ don't know your full name, and you work for me. Thomas met you Sunday and already knows your full name and your favourite food, I might add. What do you think that means?"

"Yes, Morgan, what does that mean?" Thomas demanded.

Morgan shrugged. "I have no idea."

Thomas pulled Novello close and whispered. "We don't know, Ivor. You'd better tell us."

Novello sat on the bed next to Thomas. "It's plain to see. Don't you have eyes, Morgan?"

"Barney Google, with the goo goo googly eyes," sang Thomas loudly.

Morgan removed Thomas' socks. "I don't understand what you're telling me."

Thomas plopped his head onto Novello's lap, still singing, "Barney Google had a wife three times his size."

"Good lord, Morgan, can't you see that he fancies you?"

Morgan laughed. "You're joking."

Thomas laughed too. "It's true, Morgan! The joke's on you!"

"He's drunk, Ivor. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Morgan, does Thomas know your situation?"

Morgan was mystified. "What situation?"

"He means you're situated on the floor," explained Thomas. "Sit next to me, Morgan."

Novello offered Morgan a hand and pulled him to his feet. "I mean your situation with Vi."

"Who's Vi?" asked Thomas.

Morgan was exasperated. "I may have mentioned it. Someone must have told him. This is all nonsense." Morgan turned to Thomas. "I need your trousers, please, Thomas."

Thomas took hold of his waistband. "Give me a kiss first."

Morgan glanced at Novello who smiled faintly. "I don't think my wife would like that, Thomas," Morgan responded gently.

Thomas laughed. "I don't want to kiss your wife!" Then he grew quiet. "Ivor, help me up." Novello helped Thomas to sit. Thomas pressed his hands to his head as though he were trying to push his thoughts in order. "Morgan, are you married?"

"Yes, I'm married."

"To a wife?"

"Yes, Thomas, I'm married to a wife. Her name is Vi."

"You don't know her full name!" Thomas snapped his fingers. "That means you don't fancy her! That's right, isn't it, Ivor?"

"For christ's sake, Morgan, say her full name," ordered Novello.

"Her name is Violet Lucy Eatwell Morgan."

"You do fancy her!" accused Thomas.

"Yes, Thomas. I fancy my wife. Now may I have your trousers?"

Thomas took hold of his waistband again and flung himself face down on Novello's lap. "No! They're my trousers! Go away! I don't like you now."

"They're not your trousers," Morgan replied evenly.

Thomas turned his head to Morgan. "They're not?"

"No."

"Then what's he wearing?"

"Who?"

"The man with no trousers."

"There is no man with no trousers."

"Is he dead?"

"Who?"

"The man with no trousers."

"I don't know."

"That's awful! Did he have children?"

"What? No!"

"He died with no children?" Thomas cried. "I don't have children. None of us has children. What will we do, Ivor! I can't bear it!"

Morgan stood, bewildered, while Thomas sobbed. Novello stroked Thomas' hair. "Finish your dinner, Morgan. I'll get the trousers for you."

Morgan returned to the table but could still hear Thomas wailing.

"What's going on in there?" asked Bobbie.

Morgan shook his head. "Thomas is crying because a man with no trousers died with no children."

Bobbie chuckled. "I'm not going to ask. Poor boy. I'll bring him a Bromo."

Morgan ate with little appetite now. He should have noticed that Thomas was drinking too much, let alone on an empty stomach. But that other thing! What was he supposed to do when he met people? Say, ' _Nice to meet you. I'm married, so please don't fancy me._ ' He was shocked ... not because Thomas had taken a special liking to him, but because it had happened while they were in the company of Novello, a man with greater charm, not to mention looks. He supposed he should feel flattered. He _did_ feel flattered. But he knew Thomas was going to hate himself in the morning. He hoped Thomas wouldn't hate him too.

Bobbie returned to the table with an empty glass and the trousers. He plunked a few coins on the table. "What's that?" asked Morgan.

Bobbie grinned. "Thomas insisted I take the money in his pocket to buy flowers for the funeral."

"The funeral?"

"For the man who died with no trousers." Morgan knew he shouldn't laugh, but he couldn't help himself. Bobbie sat across from him. "Ivor's staying with him until he falls asleep. I've never known Ivor to be so solicitous." Morgan had to agree.

Bobbie sent Morgan home with a large piece of honey cake for Vi. Morgan stopped on his way to return the borrowed trousers to the Savoy. He wished Thomas would take a job at the hotel but didn't think it was likely. He was certain that after years of being in service, Thomas would refuse an entry-level job, even if it were offered by Santarelli himself.

When Morgan arrived the next day to take Novello to the theatre for the matinee, Thomas was secluded in his room.

"I think he's embarrassed to see you, Morgan. I brought breakfast to his room," reported Novello.

"You're quite the nurse," teased Bobbie.

Novello shrugged. "I can't help it. I feel protective of him. You'll talk to him, won't you, Morgan?"

"As soon as I drop you," Morgan promised.

When Morgan returned from the theatre, he found Thomas dressed but still in his room, packing clothes for his trip home the next day. The door was ajar, but Morgan knocked anyway. "May a married man enter here?"

Thomas grimaced and continued to pack. "I behaved badly. I'm surprised you're willing to speak to me."

"So you remember what happened?" asked Morgan.

"I remember enough."

"You take these things too much to heart, Thomas."

Thomas sat on the bed. "You're not disgusted by me?"

"Thomas! How could you ask such a thing?"

Thomas stared at his shoes. "Morgan, did I ... make advances?"

Morgan chuckled. "Not really. You only said that you fancied me. Oh yes, and you asked me for a kiss. That's not so terrible, is it?"

Thomas looked up at Morgan. "I didn't know you were married. I thought you were like Ivor and Bobbie and me."

"That's my fault, Thomas, not yours. It never occurred to me that I should tell you. I'm surrounded by good-looking, accomplished men. No one especially notices me."

"I noticed you, Morgan. I thought we were friends and perhaps something would ... I don't know ... blossom. I'm sorry for embarrassing you."

"I'm not embarrassed, Thomas, but there won't be any blossoming. I've had a fine time with you. We're still friends, aren't we? Let's not waste your last day in London moping about. What would you like to do? You've been in the paper again, and Bobbie says three hotels have telephoned offering you tours."

"Morgan, why haven't you had a day off this week? Is it because of my visit?"

"Well ..."

"What would you be doing today if I weren't here?"

Morgan laughed. "On a hot day like today, I'd probably drive to the beach and throw myself in the Channel. In the summer, I keep my swimming suit in the car."

"Then that's what we'll do!"

Bobbie gave Thomas one of Novello's old swimming suits, and Morgan drove Thomas to Brighton Beach. On the way, Morgan delivered Santarelli's message, trying to recite his words exactly.

"Do you think he meant it, or was he only being polite?" queried Thomas.

"He ran after me to the street on a busy Friday night. That's a lot of bother only to be polite."

Thomas leaned back in his seat. "The States. Can you picture me as an American?"

"Why not? Of course, you'll have to learn the native language," Morgan joked.

"OK!" replied Thomas with the only American expression he knew, and they both laughed.

Thomas and Morgan spent the afternoon swimming, eating ice cream, and visiting the Aquarium. The beach was as crowded as any London street, but Thomas said he enjoyed getting away from the city grime.

During the drive home, Morgan kept his promise and taught Thomas to park parallel to the street. Thomas wanted to know how to change a tyre, so Morgan showed him how to use the jack. Morgan had been working with motor cars since he was a boy and knew his business. He raised the bonnet and talked about the dynamo and the spark plugs and the gearbox. He turned to see if the student was understanding the professor and found Thomas hanging on his every word. "You know everything!" Thomas gushed.

Morgan laughed and patted Thomas on the shoulder. "We should get back. Ivor won't appreciate being abandoned at the theatre."

Morgan dropped Thomas at the flat. Thomas opened the car door but paused before climbing out. "Vi is a lucky woman, Morgan. A very lucky woman."


	42. The Game's Up

**CHAPTER 42: THE GAME'S UP**

 **On the Road to Downton**

 **Sunday evening**

Thomas had insisted on driving the last leg from Doncaster to Downton. Who knew when he would have the opportunity to drive again. Morgan was curious to see the Abbey and its inhabitants, yet he was reluctant to complete the day's journey. He thought of aristocratic estates as dungeons of humourless formality. He felt as though he were delivering Thomas into a straitjacket, and it was a damn shame. Last night at the flat, Thomas had let loose his innermost devil-may-care self. _That was the true Thomas,_ thought Morgan.

It started at dinner. When Novello came to the table after changing his clothes, Thomas hugged and kissed him and said he was glad they were staying home for his last evening in London. Morgan and the others were surprised. Thomas was not usually demonstrative. "You're in a lovely mood," Bobbie remarked.

Thomas grinned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

After dinner, Novello settled in the parlour with his coffee and cigarettes. Morgan had his camera ready and extra film in his pocket. When they heard the first knock of the night, Thomas leapt to his feet and ran to the door to see who had come to bid him farewell. He eagerly opened the door to find Garland and Lucas. Lucas immediately embraced Thomas, easily lifting him off the floor. " _Tu vas tellement me manquer, mon petit homme drôle._ "

"He says he'll miss you very much. He calls you his funny little man," translated Garland. "I'll miss you too, my friend. I can't imagine why you're leaving us."

"Look who's here!" Thomas announced as he ushered the two men into the parlour and settled between them on the sofa. Morgan was amused by the threesome as he snapped a photo. Thomas was chatting gaily, untroubled that Lucas did not understand one word, and Lucas was nodding and laughing, captivated by Thomas' enthusiasm.

Morgan retreated to the kitchen for a private cup of coffee and the last bit of honey cake when he heard another knock at the door. A moment later, Eddie Marsh was pulling Thomas into the kitchen. He wanted to have a conversation away from Novello but did not seem to mind that Morgan was there. "So, you're abandoning us!" declared Marsh.

"I'm not moving to Borneo, Eddie, and I know you're too sweet a man to make me feel guilty. I'm only trying to make the best choice for myself."

Marsh sighed. "You're right, dear boy. You must do what is right for you. It's only that you seem to arouse a certain maturity in Ivor that I rarely see in him, at least not when it comes to his personal affairs."

"I wouldn't want to change one thing about Ivor. I love him just as he is, Eddie."

Marsh smiled. "Of course you do, dear boy, and that's as it should be. That's enough about Ivor. I'm here to see you. I've brought you something." He handed Thomas a flat wrapped package that obviously contained a book. "Open it. It's for that godson of whom you're so fond."

Thomas opened the package and read the book's title, " _A Child's Garden of Verses_ by Robert Louis Stevenson." He turned to Marsh, his blue eyes glistening. "My mother read to me from this book every night when I was a boy! I still remember some of the poems." He paused a moment and then recited from memory:

"A birdie with a yellow bill  
Hopped upon my window sill,  
Cocked his shining eye and said:  
'Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head!'"

"Now, you can read the poems to your godson, my boy."

"I can't thank you enough, Eddie. I'll put it in my bag right now!" Thomas ran out of the room, bumping into Novello who was coming to see why they had disappeared.

Novello watched Thomas leave and then turned to Marsh accusingly. "What did you do to him?" he demanded. "He was happy a moment ago!"

Marsh smiled. "I didn't do anything to your little ward, Ivor. Calm down."

"He's fine, Ivor," assured Morgan. "He's feeling a bit sentimental. That's all."

Novello looked at Morgan and then turned back to Marsh. "I'm sorry, Eddie. It's only that I don't want anything to spoil Thomas' last night here."

Marsh gave Morgan a wink. "Of course not, Ivor. Let's join the others." Morgan tucked the last bit of cake behind the bread box for later and followed Novello and Marsh to the parlour.

No sooner did Thomas return from his bedroom than there was another knock at the door. Thomas opened the door, and Morgan watched as Thomas stood there gawking.

"Who is it?" shouted Novello.

"It's the two Bolsheviks!" Thomas shouted back.

The two men at the door separated to reveal Gladys Cooper. "All right, boys, the game's up," she declared. The two men removed their hats and turned down their collars. "Boys, this is Thomas Barrow. Thoms, this is Sir Gerald du Maurier and Ronald Squire."

Thomas realized that the two men were Lord Dilling and the butler from _The Last of Mrs Cheyney_. He laughed and shook their hands heartily. He kissed Cooper's cheek. "I'm so pleased you came tonight, Glads."

"I can't stay long, darling, but I couldn't let you go back to the wilderness without saying goodbye."

Thomas happily served drinks to everyone under Ivor's disapproving eye. "Thomas, your holiday's not over yet. You shouldn't be waiting on us."

Before Thomas could reply, several sharp raps sounded at the door. Thomas opened the door and slammed it shut again. "Ivor, come quickly. It's some peddler!" he shouted.

"What?" As Ivor approached, the raps became more insistent. The room silenced, and everyone waited expectantly as Ivor open the door. There stood Coward and another man. "Oh. It's only Noël Coward," observed Novello blandly. "I can understand your mistake."

"That's Noël Coward?" asked Thomas, straight-faced. "Are you certain, Ivor? He's not wearing pyjamas."

"No, he only wears pyjamas when he's working," replied Novello.

"Look, Ivor. How clever!" remarked Thomas. "He's brought a friend to help him carry his talent. I've heard it's too immense for any one man to carry."

Coward waited patiently at the door for the commentary to cease. He turned to Thomas. "Ingrate. I didn't come here tonight for you. I came to mourn for Yorkshire over your return. Bring me a martini, would you. I'd like to begin wailing now." Coward stepped inside. "Ingrate, this is Jack Wilson. Jack, this is an ingrate."

Jack smiled and offered his hand. "Thomas, isn't it? Where can I get his martini?" he asked. "And a double for myself," he added quickly.

Thomas shook Jack's hand. "I'm pleased to meet you Jack. Have a seat. I'll get them."

When Coward saw Morgan, he pounced. "There you are, Morgan. Did you see how the press enjoyed our little Bolshevik play, oh ye of little faith?"

Morgan looked at Thomas who shook his head. "No, we haven't seen the paper today. We've been busy and forgot to look."

Cooper laughed. "The rest of us are killing ourselves to get in the papers, and they forgot to look."

"Well, find it and bring it here, man!" commanded Coward.

Morgan retrieved the paper and set it on the cocktail table opened to the headline, "Where's The Butler?" Under the headline were two photographs of Thomas. In the first, Thomas was shaking hands with George Reeves-Smith in front of the Savoy. In the second, Thomas and Cooper were standing side-by-side next to Cooper's car, and the baby goat was sticking its head out the car window between them.

Novello sat back on the sofa. "Read it to us, Noël."

"I dread reading anything not written by me, but if it will make you happy," replied Coward picking up the paper. "The West End wants to know if its beloved new prince, The Butler, is out of harm's way. He joined the after-theatre crowd last night at the Savoy Grill with intimate friends, Noël Coward, Ivor Novello, and Bobbie Andrews, but was threatened by the sudden appearance of two men described by witnesses as either Bolsheviks or anarchists."

"Why is your name listed first?" complained Novello.

"No heckling, please." Coward continued, "No doubt out of concern for the safety of the Grill's guests and staff, The Butler rose from his seat with the dignity and courage of his ancestors intact and strode out of the hotel, accompanied by Mr Novello and Mr Andrews. At the same time, Mr Coward and The Butler's muscular bodyguard cornered the spineless Bolsheviks who offered no resistance as they were escorted from the Grill. Once removed, however, the two goons escaped. Their whereabouts are unknown, and they are feared to be a threat to The Butler's continued good health ... I need page 11."

Thomas slapped Morgan on the back. "Your muscles made the paper!"

Coward located the continuation. "Here we are. Earlier yesterday, at the invitation of Mr Reeves-Smith, Managing Director of the Savoy, The Butler enjoyed a private tour of the hotel. Mr Santarelli, the popular manager of the Savoy Grill, pronounced The Butler to be both charming and astute and in possession of impeccable manners. In the evening, The Butler was seen sitting in a box at the St. James' Theatre to watch _The Last of Mrs Cheyney_. Attendees have reported that The Butler was scribbling notes furiously before the show and between the acts but paying rapt attention during the performance. He smiled adoringly whenever lovely Gladys Cooper took the stage."

"Aren't you a darling!" interjected Cooper.

"Please, I bill for overtime!" warned Coward. "Tonight there has been much speculation as to the notes The Butler was writing. The most likely explanation is that they were farewell notes announcing The Butler's plan to go back into hiding. Readers, I invite you to write your own farewell notes to our brave visitor. I have been promised delivery of any notes I receive by a member of his inner circle." Coward set down the paper. "That would be me."

"Let's have a pool!" suggested Cooper. "We'll bet on how many letters Thoms receives by this time next week. £5 a number. How's that?"

Bobbie ran to the office. "I'll get some paper."

"Are they serious?" Thomas asked Novello.

"Certainly. Let me buy a number for you."

Thomas hesitated, as though he were going to refuse, but then he asked, "May I split a number with Morgan?"

Novello laughed. "Yes, Thomas. Whatever your heart desires."

Bobbie returned with paper and pencil. He drew boxes and entered numbers in increments of 500. "Thomas is the guest of honour. Let him pick first."

"What do you think, Morgan? 500?"

"2,500."

"That's daft! All right, we pick 2,500." Bobbie wrote _Thomas & Morgan_ in the 2,500 square. Coward took the pencil and wrote his name in the 5,000 square.

As the others selected their numbers, Coward approached Thomas. "Why are you going back to Yorkshire? You could write your own ticket here. We could arrange to have witnesses report that the two Bolsheviks were recalled to Russia."

Thomas shook his head. "Imagine me after a year in London." Morgan thought he recognized a hint of mischief in Thomas' eyes. Thomas held up his hand. "Give me a moment." He disappeared into his bedroom. Coward looked at Novello who shrugged.

Thomas returned wearing a gaudy dressing gown and smoking a cigarette in a holder. Morgan recognized the dressing gown as a gift from Novello's mother that had never seen the light of day. Thomas must have gone through Novello's closet while Morgan was picking up Novello at the theatre.

Lucas pointed and laughed. " _Il est Noël Coward mais plus beau!_ "

Garland began to translate, "He said ..."

"We know what he said!" squealed Novello. Everyone was laughing now except Thomas and Coward. Coward sat calmly on the sofa with his legs crossed.

Thomas sat next to Coward and crossed his legs too. He imitated Coward's clipped speech. "I require some space, my good man. I use large words." Novello guffawed, and Thomas continued. "I've permitted London to host me for one year. I've become witty, debonair, urbane ... a truly odious fellow. I don't believe there's room in London for two of our rare breed."

"But Noël can leave London!" suggested Cooper. Novello rolled off the sofa holding his splitting sides.

Coward took Thomas' hand, turned it palm side up, and tapped his cigarette ash into it. Thomas, in turn, tapped his cigarette ash into Coward's martini glass.

Coward looked at Novello who was on the floor attempting to regain his composure. "This should be a lesson to you, Ivor. This man took a risk and succeeded. You must take risks in your work if you want to grow, Ivor. I take risks with my work every day, and what is the result?"

"Coward dies a thousand times but Novello dies but once?" asked Thomas.

Coward gazed at Thomas but could not summon a response except, " _Touché._ "

"You've broken our Noël!" exclaimed Cooper. "It's a good thing we have a spare."

"Oh no," replied Thomas. "You'll have to repair the original model. I'm going back to Yorkshire tomorrow. Being Noël Coward is too much to ask of any man."

"A truer word was never spoken," agreed Coward.

Thomas retired the dressing gown. When he emerged from his bedroom, everyone clapped, even Coward, so Thomas took a bow.

Thomas sat next to Garland and Lucas, and Garland asked him about his life in Downton. "It's lovely country. I've lived there for sixteen years now, except during the war.

"Were you in France?" asked Garland.

Thomas nodded. "The Somme."

Lucas pulled out a photograph he had tucked in his wallet. It was a picture of a young man in uniform. Lucas tapped the picture. "Garland était dans la Somme."

Thomas looked at the picture and looked at Garland. "Garland, is that you?"

"I was a Bantam. The 15th Battalion of the Cheshire Regiment."

"Cheshire? I thought you were from Soho."

"The first Bantam battalion was organised in Cheshire. The local recruiting office measured me at exactly 5 feet and gave me a railway warrant to Birkenhead."

Thomas was silent.

Garland grinned. "Surprised that I volunteered or surprised that there was an army for short men?"

"I was thinking you were brave to volunteer. I joined the medical corps because I thought it would keep me safe."

"I wasn't brave; I was young and angry. My parents had assured me that I'd have a late growth spurt. My 18th birthday came and went and nothing happened. Then my 19th. By my 20th birthday, I knew it was never going to happen. That was the year war was declared. You remember how it was after that. Everywhere you looked, there were men in uniform. More than anything, I wanted the respect that those uniforms commanded, but I was too short. I wasn't man enough."

Thomas opened his mouth to object, but Garland stopped him. "I'm describing how I felt at the time. It can be a terrible thing to feel less than a man." Thomas nodded, and Garland patted his hand. "I was desperate to get my uniform, but there was a khaki shortage. When I finally got my first uniform, it was blue serge. I wanted to look like a soldier, and instead I looked like a postman." Garland laughed. Then he gave Thomas' glove a light tug. "It didn't keep you safe, did it?"

"What ... the medical corps? I have no complaints."

"The glove gives you glamour," remarked Coward.

"Oh?"

"It's as mysterious as an eye patch," Coward insisted, "but doesn't make you bump into furniture."

Morgan continued to snap pictures of Thomas and his guests until everyone had gone except Marsh. Then Morgan slipped into the kitchen to enjoy his hidden piece of cake. He sat at the table and could hear Thomas thanking Marsh again for the book and apologizing for being soppy about it. Morgan was tired. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was not certain how much time had passed. He heard Thomas asking Ivor if he wanted coffee.

"No, only a cigarette."

After a pause, he heard Thomas ask, "Ivor, what are you doing?"

"Don't you like it?"

"I like it very much. Now stop it, Ivor, or I shall have to go to my room."

"Shall I come to your room?"

"No."

"Then I'm going to stop."

"Good."

Morgan took another bite of cake. He was relieved that nothing intimate was about to occur in the parlour. He heard Thomas speak again.

"Ivor! Are you going to pout now?"

"How do I look when I pout?"

"Adorable."

"Then I'm going to pout."

"You're impossible."

"Thomas?"

"Yes?"

"Are you happy to be going home?"

"Yes."

"Then why the tears?"

"Because I'll miss you. What about your tears?"

"I look adorable when I cry."

Morgan heard Thomas laugh which gave him satisfaction. When they met, Morgan had wondered if Thomas knew how to laugh.

Now Ivor was speaking. _Are those two ever going to bed?_ wondered Morgan.

"Thomas, you should stay here."

"Ivor, please. Not this again. Do you want us to end up like you and that poet ... what was his name ... Sassoon?"

"Siegfried Sassoon? Did Morgan tell you about that?"

Morgan set down his fork, insulted.

"Ivor, how can you ask such a thing? You know Morgan doesn't tell tales."

 _Thank you, Thomas_ , thought Morgan as he picked up his fork.

"Eddie Marsh told me. He resented being caught in the middle."

"What else did Eddie say?"

"He said you made Sassoon miserable, and he wasn't the first."

"He made me miserable too! He expected me to worship him because he had a little fame and lot of money!"

"Ivor, I have none of those things, but if I were your lover, I would expect you to worship me too. Would you have me stay in London so you and I could make each other miserable?"

"No ... but there are other men in London. Many other men, and they're more open about their true selves than in Downton. Stay and I'll help you find the right one."

"Ivor, I like living in Downton. I like the countryside. London's too grimy for me. I don't like air that you can eat with a spoon. You may be a city mouse, but I'm a country mouse."

"And your precious family is in Downton. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"Stop it, Ivor."

Morgan thought the two men sounded angry, but soon he heard Ivor speaking affectionately.

"We should go to sleep. We have an outing in the morning. Give me a kiss goodnight."

"Goodnight, City Mouse."

"Goodnight, Country Mouse."

 _Just in time_ , thought Morgan. _I'm out of cake._


	43. Panya and Cigars

**CHAPTER 43: PANYA AND CIGARS**

 **On the Road to Downton**

 **Sunday evening**

It was dark by the time Thomas and Morgan neared Downton. Thomas leaned over the steering wheel and peered at the road.

"Shall I take a turn?" asked Morgan.

Thomas shook his head. "What if someone's outside when we arrive? I want them to see me driving!"

"Do they usually mill about in the dark?"

"No," Thomas answered ruefully, "but there's always a chance!"

Morgan curled up in the passenger seat and closed his eyes. It had been a long week and a long day.

Novello had insisted on using his day off from the theatre for one final outing with Thomas. They piled into the car well before noon and headed southeast of London. Morgan drove while Thomas, Novello, and Bobbie napped in the back seat. Novello giggled when Bobbie began to snore. "He doesn't believe me when I tell him," Novello complained to Thomas. "I don't snore, do I, darling?"

"I'll never tell," replied Thomas.

 _So_ _they have spent a night together_ , mused Morgan. He could not decide if he were pleased or disappointed.

"Where are we headed?" asked Thomas.

"I have an acquaintance who's a good friend of Eddie Marsh. He's been renovating a country house and wants to put it on parade," explained Novello. "He lives in London but takes his family to the house most weekends. That's what Bobbie and I want – a weekend escape."

"That's why you came to Downton, isn't it?" asked Thomas. "To look at properties?"

"Yes, but Bobbie refused to come. He said I was living in a fantasy if I thought I'd make a trip to Yorkshire every weekend. I knew he was right, but I can be a bit stubborn," confessed Novello.

"No!" gasped Thomas, and they both laughed.

"Vi was sick that week, and I didn't want to ask Morgan to leave her. I despise travelling by myself and never do, but I couldn't find anyone to accompany me. Bobbie was right. The train ride was dreadful. It was worth it, of course, because I met you." Novello paused and studied Thomas' face. "What's wrong?"

Morgan glanced at Thomas in his rear-view mirror. His smile had disappeared, and he seemed disturbed.

"Nothing."

"Something."

"It's silly, Ivor."

Novello drew his finger across Thomas' forehead. "Nothing that makes this line is silly."

It's only that I feel uncomfortable when good things happen by chance. It's as if they weren't meant to be and can be taken away."

"That's silly."

"You see!"

"I'm sorry, but I believe the opposite. If something happens to me by chance, then I feel it must be destined. We were destined to meet, darling. Even if we weren't, last week can't be taken from us, can it?"

"I hope not."

"What a Gloomy Gus!"

At that moment, the car began to bounce wildly. "We have a flat," announced Morgan as he pulled off the road.

In an instant, Thomas forgot his anxiety. "Let me, let me!" he shouted with the excitement of a six-year-old. He leapt from the car, removed his coat and waistcoat, and rolled up his sleeves.

Novello watched Thomas and chuckled. "For that, he's happy!" He roused Bobbie and the two climbed out of the car and stretched their legs. Morgan brought out his camera to record the event.

"Is the handbrake set?" asked Thomas.

"Yes," answered Morgan. "What's next?"

"The jack. No, wait. I loosen the wheel nuts while the tyre's still on the ground so it doesn't spin."

"That's right," confirmed Morgan, pleased that Thomas had paid attention to his lecture.

Novello clapped Thomas on the back. "Imagine knowing a thing like that!"

Thomas changed the tyre while Morgan snapped photographs. Novello and Bobbie clowned and hid the wheel nuts and made nuisances of themselves. Soon the group was back on the road. As they approached the estate, Novello asked Morgan to pull over so they could see the entire property. Morgan thought the grounds and view were splendid but the imposing red brick house seemed a bit dreary.

They drove up to the house where they were greeted by Marsh, whose driver would be taking him back to London that night along with Novello and Bobbie. Marsh informed them that their host and his children were on the grounds and would return to the house soon for lunch. "Clementine's not here today."

"That's our host's wife," Bobbie informed Thomas.

Thomas was still in his shirtsleeves. "What happened to you?" asked Marsh.

Thomas explained that he had changed a tyre and asked where he could wash his hands.

" _You_ changed a tyre? I didn't know Morgan had an assistant," jested Marsh.

"A temporary hire, but I'll have to let him go. He associates with some questionable types." countered Morgan. "Right now, he needs some cooking oil."

"Cooking oil?" asked Marsh and Thomas in unison.

"To remove the grime. It's the only stuff that works. You'll see."

Marsh took Morgan and Thomas to the kitchen where the cook eyed them suspiciously as she poured a small amount of oil into a teacup.

"Does she think he's going to drink it?" smirked Morgan when they were clear of the kitchen.

As Morgan and Marsh watched, Thomas held his hands over a sink, poured a bit of oil on them, and rubbed until his hands were grease-free. "You were right, Morgan. That did the trick!" A bit of soap dispatched the oil. Thomas donned his waistcoat and coat and checked his hair in the mirror.

"You look fine," assured Morgan impatiently.

"More than fine," sighed Marsh.

As the three proceeded down the corridor, Thomas stopped short. "What's this?"

"Ah yes, the studio," answered Marsh. "Care to have a look?"

Morgan plopped himself into the nearest chair while Thomas walked to the centre of the room and turned slowly, examining the paintings that filled the walls.

"They're ... impressionist, aren't they?" asked Thomas.

"That's right," replied a new voice. Morgan turned and stood for the older man who had entered the room. The man gestured for Morgan to sit. He appeared to be about fifty and had a round face and thick features. He was balding, on the shorter side, like Morgan, and chomping a cigar. He held a wide-brimmed hat and work gloves in his hand. "Do you like them?"

"Most of them. Some, very much." Thomas turned to face the man. "Do you know the artist?"

The man chuckled. "Yes, I know him intimately, although we're not always on speaking terms. What is it you like about them?"

"Oh, I don't know anything about art."

The man laughed. "Who does? Tell me which are your favourites."

"My favourites have reflections in the water." Thomas pointed to a painting opposite the door. "That one of a bridge where the columns are reflected in the water. It seems alive. I can see the water moving. And that one of a house on a lake. Look how rough the brush strokes are in the tree on the right ..."

"Primitive."

"Yes, that's it! The brush strokes are primitive!" agreed Thomas exuberantly. Marsh and the man exchanged smiles. "It's not realistic, yet it feels real. It makes me feel as though I'm there ... as though I could dip my toe in the water and be refreshed."

The man nodded. "What else?"

Thomas pointed again. "That one of the boy looking at his reflection in the water. That's my favourite. I want to be in the boat with him. I want to row with him to that red shack on the beach and explore." Thomas turned back to the man. "He paints to escape, your friend, doesn't he?"

The man seemed surprised. "Yes, painting is just the thing when the Black Dog bites."

"The Black Dog?"

"The miseries. I'm afraid I was having you on. _I'm_ the artist. I'm Winston, and you are ...?"

Morgan watched Thomas glance from Marsh to the man. He could imagine Thomas' brain working furiously as it recalled that Marsh was secretary to the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

The man offered his hand to Thomas and asked again, "Your name, sir?"

"Winston _Churchill_?" asked Thomas as he shook the man's hand.

"Is it?" The man peeped inside his coat and then inside his hat. "And here I thought I was Winston Churchill." The man laughed heartily.

Marsh intervened, "This is Thomas Barrow. You may have seen his photo in the papers. He's The Butler who's been visiting Ivor."

"Oh yes, that Russian fellow who tangos. My wife sent a farewell note to the newspaper for you."

Thomas blanched. "That was a childish prank, sir. I'm not really Russian."

"No? I never would have known!" Winston laughed uproariously. "Shall we repair to the dining room and have some panya? Prof is waiting to be fed."

"What's panya?" Thomas whispered to Marsh as they walked down the corridor.

"Champagne."

"Is Prof his dog?"

"His pet. Frederick Lindemann, an Oxford professor," whispered Marsh, but Winston overheard.

"Love me, love my dog!" growled Winston.

As they approached the dining room, Morgan tapped Thomas' shoulder. "I'll see you after lunch."

"Oh! I didn't realize." Thomas turned toward the dining room and back to Morgan. "I should eat in the kitchen, too."

"Don't be ridiculous, Thomas. You're Eddie's guest today," whispered Morgan as he gave Thomas' elbow a nudge toward the dining room. "You'll be back in service before your head touches a pillow tonight. No need to rush things." Thomas smiled wryly, gave Morgan a nod, and followed the others.

Morgan sauntered into the kitchen. He sat and chatted amiably but failed to arouse the interest of the cook or Marsh's driver. He ate two ham sandwiches while he watched the cook set out the luncheon courses. Petite marmite soup to start, roast beef, pommes noisette, new peas, Roquefort cheese and peeled pears, and ice cream.

Unable to wheedle a dish of ice cream from the cook, Morgan stepped outside and found a comfortable spot for a nap behind some bushes. After missing his weekly day off, he welcomed having an hour or two to himself. He was glad the weather had cooled. He knew he'd be sleeping in a stuffy attic room that night. He closed his eyes and was certain that no time had passed before Thomas was shaking him awake.

"How did you find me?" Morgan asked, squinting against the sun.

"I almost tripped over your feet," replied Thomas.

Morgan scooted back until his feet were hidden from view. "How was it?"

"All right, I suppose, but I think I made a fool of myself."

"Why? What happened?"

"Eddie asked what we thought of the new stream-of-consciousness writing."

"So?"

"I said that I had read Mrs Dalloway and enjoyed it, but _life_ is stream of consciousness. I said I would have appreciated Miss Woolf 's being a bit more organized than reality is."

"That doesn't seem so bad."

"No? Everyone laughed." Thomas squatted next to Morgan. "Do you know that Mr Churchill lays bricks? He built his butler's cottage, and now he's working on a garden wall. He's going to show us. Are you coming?"

"I'm too comfortable where I am."

"Suit yourself. There's Ivor and Bobbie with one of the children." Thomas ran to catch them.

Morgan closed his eyes again. Before he dozed off, he heard Winston speaking. "I like a man who can think and whose opinions are his own. Does he have no ambition beyond buttling?"

"He fancies himself a hotelier but hasn't the resources." Morgan recognized the speaker as Marsh. "He's a determined sort, though. I wouldn't count him out."

Morgan felt a shoe tap his foot. His eyes popped open, and he saw Winston, chomping a cigar and looking down at him. "Are you coming?"

* * *

Morgan chuckled as he remembered how he had scrambled to his feet and followed Winston through the garden for the dubious reward of watching his bricklaying demonstration.

"What's tickling you?" asked Thomas, still hunched over the steering wheel.

"I was remembering the bricks."

"Wasn't that remarkable ... a man of his distinction laying bricks as though he'd been doing it his entire life."

"Remarkable isn't quite the word I'd use."

Thomas glanced at Morgan and returned his eyes to the road. "I don't suppose I have to tell you that Downton is a formal estate. I'm _Mr Barrow_ to the other servants and _Barrow_ to the family."

"So I assumed."

"I'll have to lose my London manners. Can you imagine me at breakfast tomorrow asking Lord Grantham, _Coffee or tea, darling?_ "

Morgan laughed. "Who knows? Perhaps he'd like it."

"There's the Abbey!" gestured Thomas excitedly. "And there's John!" He greeted Bates with a loud honk of the car's horn.


	44. Not For Downton

**CHAPTER 44: NOT FOR DOWNTON**

 **Sunday night**

 **Outside the Abbey**

It was too dark to see the occupants of the car headed up the drive, but when Bates heard the horn, he knew Thomas had to be inside. He was excited to see Thomas and hear about his adventures, but he was apprehensive. Thomas had been the subject of no less than three newspaper articles during the course of one week. Perhaps his head had been turned by all the attention. Perhaps he had lost interest in their mundane friendship. Bates watched as the driver's door opened and Thomas appeared. Another man, whom Bates assumed was Novello's chauffeur, climbed out of the passenger seat.

Thomas ran to Bates and clasped his hand. "I've missed you, John! Did you see me driving! I have so much to tell you! Come and meet Morgan. Has Lady Mary had her baby yet?"

Bates laughed with relief. "Slow down, little brother. I can't keep up!"

Thomas smiled warmly at the familiar endearment. "It's good to see you, John." He squeezed Bates' hand before releasing it. Thomas eagerly introduced Bates and Morgan to each other, and the two men shook hands.

"Thomas, did you drive all the way from London?" asked Bates.

"Farther!" bragged Thomas. "All the way from Kent."

Morgan nodded, "Yes, we'll go out after daylight and collect the bodies."

Thomas nudged Morgan and laughed. "Stop it, Morgan. He'll think you're serious."

Bates turned to Morgan. "I suppose you've met all sorts of celebrities, Mr Morgan. Tell me, have you ever had the opportunity to be a celebrity yourself?"

"That's an odd question. I've been an actor, but I've never been a celebrity."

"Brace yourself," warned Bates. "Word is out that Ivor Novello's chauffeur is staying the night. The downstairs crew is waiting to meet you. Even the day hires have stayed late. I'm afraid your life won't be worth a farthing if you don't have some gossip to share."

Morgan grinned. "I've got plenty!"

Bates took Morgan through the servants' entrance while Thomas parked the car. They stopped first in the kitchen. "Arthur Morgan, this is Mrs Patmore, the Abbey's cook."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs Patmore. Mr Barrow tells me that you're the best cook in all of Yorkshire and beyond."

"Get along with you, Mr Morgan," replied Mrs Patmore.

"She doesn't do it alone!" protested Daisy.

"I didn't see you, Daisy," apologized Bates. "This is Daisy Parker, our assistant cook. She's quite the culinary artist herself."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs Parker. I understand that you're a newlywed. Please allow me to offer my congratulations."

Daisy cheeks reddened. "Mr Barrow spoke about me?"

"Certainly! He said you used to study each night after a long day's work and you passed your school certificate exams last year on the first try. Double congratulations are in order."

Bates chuckled as he escorted Morgan to the servants' hall. "You'll get an extra bit of something on your plate tonight."

* * *

 **The Garage**

Thomas parked and unstrapped his and Morgan's bags from the back of the car. Something was not quite right with his bag. He did not recall packing it so full. He unfastened the clasp and found, sitting on top of his meticulously packed belongings, the dressing gown he had worn at his farewell party. As he pulled the garish thing from his bag, he could see the cigarette holder protruding from the pocket. The pocket also held a note.

* * *

 _Darling,_

 _You were right. We would have failed as lovers and been wretched. But we shall be glorious as nearly the most intimate of friends. I miss you already, my darling boy. I hope you will think of me from time to time. I will be thinking of you as you read this._

 _All love,_  
 _Ivor_

* * *

The dressing gown made Thomas laugh, but the note made him cry. He paced up and down the garage, laughing and crying and trying to compose himself. He could not walk into the servants' hall in such a state.

"What's wrong, little brother?"

Thomas jumped when he heard Bates' voice. "You startled me."

"Are you sorry you came back?"

"No, John, not at all." He slipped Novello's note into his pocket. "It's only that there are things I'll miss."

"Is Ivor one of those things?"

"He's a sweet man, John, and he was terribly kind to me. It's unfathomable, isn't it? Me being friends with a movie star."

"I don't think so."

"John, I know what you did."

"What did I do?"

"I know about the letters."

Bates hesitated. "I didn't think Ivor would tell you."

"I stumbled on them by accident. What could he do but tell me?"

"I suppose you're angry at me for interfering."

"How can I be, John? I've had the most incredible week. I can't wait to sit with you and Anna at the cottage and tell you about it."

Bates seemed relieved. "I didn't like going behind your back."

"And you won't do it again. Do you hear me, John? I don't care how it turned out this time, you won't do it again! Agreed?"

"Agreed, little brother. Are you ready to go inside?"

"I don't want the others to see me quite yet. I'm a bit ... unsettled."

"Why don't you take your bag up to your room. You can collect yourself and wash your face and ... wash off that perfume."

"The perfume! I forgot!" gasped Thomas. "But what about Morgan?"

"I don't think he's wearing perfume."

"No, John. I mean, I shouldn't leave him alone. He's my guest."

"He's having a great time in the servant's hall," assured Bates. "He's probably never had as attentive an audience. You'll join us in time for supper."

"Supper? We thought we were too late for supper. All right then. I'll take up his bag, too. Which room did you give him?"

"My old one."

John ...?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you like the perfume?"

Bates laughed. "I do. It suits you. But it's not for Downton."

"No," agreed Thomas. "Not for Downton."


	45. Merrymaking

**CHAPTER 45: MERRYMAKING**

 **A few minutes later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

As stifling as the attic was, Thomas was glad to be back in his own room. At the Abbey, he knew the rules. He had mastered the rules. Yes, he had survived one week in London living as the other half do, but Novello and Morgan had watched out for him. He gazed about his room and wondered if, when the time came, he would have the courage to make a life for himself away from Downton. He pulled Novello's note from his pocket, read it once more, and tucked it in his top drawer where he kept the notes from Anna.

Thomas headed down the servants' stairs, paused, and ran up to the bathroom where he washed away the last traces of Tabac Blond. He checked himself in the mirror and combed his hair. He was eager to see the staff and wanted to look his best. There were only two people Thomas was reluctant to see: Lord Grantham and Carson. They both would be displeased by the publicity he had received in London. That was tomorrow's problem.

As Thomas ran down the stairs to the servants' hall, he heard Minnie behind him. No doubt, she had been serving port and savouries to the family in the drawing room. "Mr Barrow, Mr Barrow!" she called as she flew down the steps to meet him. "I missed you, Mr Barrow!"

"Minnie Childs," chided Thomas, "you forget yourself!"

Chagrined, Minnie stepped back.

"Minnie, I was only teasing!" apologized Thomas. "I missed you, too, and I missed those dimples!" Thomas had never spoken to her in such a personal manner, but he was on holiday and that made it all right. He extended his arm gaily. "May I escort you?" They walked down the steps arm-in-arm but wisely separated before they entered the corridor.

Thomas found Morgan happily surrounded by the entire house staff. Even Molesley and Mr Mason were there. And towering above all of them was Carson. Thomas caught sight of Bates and pulled him aside. "What's going on?"

"It's a party!" replied Bates. "We'd been waiting for you two to arrive."

"A party? That's fine. I don't want to be the only one enjoying my last day of freedom." He pulled Bates farther from the crowd. "John, was Mr Carson upset by the newspaper stories?"

Bates laughed. "He certainly was!"

"He doesn't seem upset now," observed Thomas.

"You know how he is. As soon as he saw that Lady Mary was amused by the whole thing, he accepted it."

Daisy announced that dinner was ready, and Mrs Hughes and Thomas all but forcibly ejected the day hires. As the staff and their guests took their seats, Thomas declared, "I'm not the butler tonight. I'm still on holiday. Mr Carson, would you care to sit at the head of the table?"

Carson shook his head. "No, Mr Barrow, those days are over for me. Mr Morgan, why don't you take the seat of honour? We all want to hear your account of Mr Barrow's holiday!"

Thomas was surprised by Carson's response. He looked at Bates who smiled and gave him a wink. Thomas took a seat between Minnie and Anna. "Anna, I'm so happy to see you!"

Anna was pleased to see that Thomas wasn't putting on airs after his adventures. "Mr Morgan's been telling us the most fantastic stories about Mr Novello and his friends. Are they true?" she asked.

"Probably," answered Thomas. "Ivor leads a charmed life."

Daisy came from the kitchen with a tureen and ladled bowls of julienne soup.

"Why aren't there chairs for Mrs Parker and Mrs Patmore?" asked Morgan. "I won't enjoy one bite unless they eat with us." He asked Thomas to bring two more chairs to the table and marched into the kitchen. He returned with Mrs Patmore, whose face was almost as red as her hair. "I'm sitting between my two new favourite ladies," he announced.

"None of that fresh talk, Mr Morgan!" scolded Mrs Patmore, but she was smiling as she took her seat.

"That's right, Mr Morgan," added Daisy. "Mrs Patmore has a sweetheart now."

"Oh? And who is that?" queried Morgan.

Mr Mason replied cheerfully, "That would be me!"

"Well, now, everyone must sit next to their sweethearts," proclaimed Morgan. Thomas and Minnie were the only partygoers without sweethearts. Thomas squeezed Minnie's hand and nodded to let her know that they would be a couple for the night. Daisy sat opposite Mrs Patmore. The others exchanged seats until everyone was properly paired: Mrs Patmore and Mr Mason, Minnie and Thomas, Anna and Bates, Baxter and Molesley, Mrs Hughes and Carson, and Andy and Daisy.

"Mr Morgan, we've enjoyed your stories, but you haven't told us about Mr Barrow's holiday. We want to hear about his shenanigans," urged Mrs Hughes.

Morgan laughed. "I thought it only fair to wait until he was here to defend himself."

"There's not much to tell," remarked Thomas.

"I think I can manage to recall _something_ of interest, Mr Barrow. Let's see." Morgan tapped his cheek thoughtfully. "Oh yes ... only this afternoon, Mr Barrow critiqued some paintings for a gentleman whose name we all know. He stood in the man's own home completely unaware of his identity as both the owner of the house and the artist in question."

"Who was it, Mr Barrow?" asked Minnie.

Thomas shrugged nonchalantly.

"Tell us, Mr Morgan!" insisted Daisy.

"Only _Winston Churchill_." Morgan was rewarded with a loud gasp from his audience.

Carson almost choked on his soup. "Winston Churchill? You're having us on!"

"I can't believe it myself," confessed Thomas.

"You should have seen Mr Barrow's face when Mr Churchill introduced himself. I thought I'd have to bring him home on a stretcher."

"I dined with him," added Thomas.

"That's right. Mr Barrow had roast beef and potatoes while I sat in the kitchen eating a ham sandwich. And that witch of a cook said she had no ice cream to spare for me, even though I saw her hoarding an extra pan of it. She lacked your generous nature, Mrs Patmore."

Daisy interrupted before Mrs Patmore could respond. "I'd like to give Mr Churchill a critique on his return to the gold standard."

"Mrs Parker, do you understand that gold standard business?" asked Morgan. "You could explain it to me."

"She does," assured Molesley.

"... and she will!" added Baxter.

"I look forward to it, Mrs Parker, but I can't allow my lack of education to bore your co-workers. Not when they've all been so kind."

"I have to bring the next course now, anyway, Mr Morgan. Come by while I'm preparing breakfast tomorrow, and I'll lay it out for you," offered Daisy on her way to the kitchen. "The gold standard is child's play."

"That was neatly done," Mrs Patmore whispered to Morgan.

"I believe in education, Mrs Patmore, but I also believe in supper," Morgan whispered back.

"Tell us another story about Mr Barrow's holiday," begged Minnie.

"I'll wait for Mrs Parker. Don't any of you have news to share with Mr Barrow?"

"There's not much to tell," reported Anna. "We've all been waiting for Lady Mary's baby. Dr Clarkson says it will come any moment now."

"Yes, he's been telling us that for three days," added Carson.

"Well, there you are. Someone needs to tell the baby!" concluded Morgan, and everyone laughed.

Daisy returned with two substantial pigeon pies. "Will you serve, Mr Morgan?"

"I'd be delighted, Mrs Parker," responded Morgan as Daisy turned and strode back to the kitchen. "Where's she going?" he asked.

"She'll be right back," replied Mrs Patmore. Morgan served up the pies, and Daisy returned with a tray of individual moulded lobster salads and a galantine of veal.

Thomas was astonished. "This truly _is_ a party!"

"Of course it is, silly," teased Baxter. "Don't you know what we're celebrating?"

"No. What?" asked Thomas.

"It's your welcome home party, Mr Barrow!" bubbled Minnie.

Thomas thought she was joking, but when he saw that he was surrounded by a ring of warm smiles, he realized it was true. "I don't know what to say."

"You say _thank you_ ," instructed Morgan, "so we can eat."

"Thank you!" repeated Thomas. "Let's eat!"

As the merrymakers ate and chatted, Thomas noticed Mrs Hughes discreetly cutting Carson's serving of pie into manageable bits for him. His palsy must have progressed a bit. Thomas quickly diverted his glance.

The women asked Morgan about Ivor Novello. The men asked Thomas about Gladys Cooper and Tallulah Bankhead.

Morgan shared more stories about Thomas. He seemed to have witnessed every moment of Thomas' holiday, even when he was absent. He told about the crisis at Cecil Beaton's party when Thomas was backed into a corner and had to prove he could speak Russian. Morgan grinned with satisfaction when he felt his audience hold its breath.

"What did you do, Mr Barrow?" asked Minnie, her round eyes even bigger than usual.

Thomas looked at Minnie calmly, then slammed the table with his fist, which made everyone jump, and followed with a vociferous stream of nonsensical Russian.

"Minnie, I'm shocked!" exclaimed Morgan. "Was that any way for you to speak to Thomas about Mrs Hughes?"

Minnie turned on Thomas. "Why Thomas Barrow! You know very well I never said any such ... OH!" Minnie started to giggle.

Daisy turned to Thomas in amazement. "I didn't know you could speak Russian!" Everyone burst out laughing, some more slowly than others as they worked out what had happened. Daisy alone sat frowning.

Mrs Patmore stood. "Come with me, Daisy. I'll explain it to you while we fetch the sweet."

Because Billy had gone home for the weekend, Andy cleared the table.

Minnie approved. "You're a thoughtful husband, Andy. I'll help you."

As Andy and Minnie resumed their seats, Mrs Patmore returned followed by Daisy carrying a tray.

Morgan grinned. "Is that what I think it is?"

"It's strawberry ice cream," replied Daisy.

Morgan took Mrs Patmore's hand as she sat. "Mrs Patmore, if I weren't already married ..."

Daisy interrupted impatiently, "I told you, she has a sweetheart!"

Mr Mason chuckled. "He's teasing, Daisy."

"Oh." Daisy returned to her seat. "Mr Morgan, may I ask you something?"

"Certainly, Mrs Parker."

"If Mr Barrow was speaking false Russian, then how did you know what he was saying?"

Morgan suppressed his laugh, and the others did their best to swallow theirs. "Tomorrow, you'll explain the gold standard to me, and I'll explain the Russian stunt to you. How's that?" Daisy nodded.

Morgan had exhausted the stories he could tell about Thomas' holiday with propriety, so Thomas told about Bobbie Andrews making muscles for Morgan so that Morgan could be his bodyguard.

"Who's Bobbie?" asked Daisy.

"He manages Ivor's career," explained Morgan before Thomas could put his foot in it. "He was a child actor himself and still performs."

"Bobbie Andrews? Does he have a sister, Maisie Andrews?" asked Carson.

"Maidie," replied Morgan. "How did you know?"

"I took Lady Mary and her sisters to see _Alice Through the Looking Glass_ in London when they were children. Maidie Andrews was Alice. A lovely child. She made quite an impression on the girls. They acted out the story again and again for weeks." Carson sighed. "I was always the Mad Hatter."

"Did they take turns playing Alice?" asked Baxter.

"No, Lady Mary was always Alice." replied Carson.

"No surprise there!" commented Mrs Hughes.

Carson ignored her remark. "Lady Edith was always the Queen of Hearts, and Lady Sybil was everyone else."

When everyone had been refreshed by ice cream, Daisy stood once more. "I'll fetch the cheese, now, Mrs Patmore."

Mrs Patmore nodded. "Mr Barrow, would you come to the kitchen with us? I'd like you to approve the port."

"He's the man for the job," noted Carson proudly.

In the kitchen, Barrow asked, "What are you serving, Mrs Patmore?"

"Stilton and biscuits."

"This port is an excellent choice, Mrs Patmore. Do you have something for Mr Bates?"

"Lemon goes with Stilton, so I thought a lemonade would do. How's that?" asked Daisy.

"That's fine, Mrs Parker." Thomas thought it was about time he called Daisy by an adult name, and she grinned as she handed him the glass of lemonade.

Thomas picked up the bottle. "I'll serve the port." He turned towards the servants' hall but hesitated.

"Did we forget something?" asked Mrs Patmore.

Thomas turned back. "The party's been lovely. I want you both to know how much I appreciate it."

"We couldn't have London showing us up, could we?" teased Mrs Patmore.

"It's only that ... I can't believe how much everyone has changed in the last year. Everyone's been so kind to me."

Mrs Patmore looked at Thomas quizzically. "Is that what you think, Mr Barrow? You're the one who's changed. Don't you know that?"

Thomas thought about it a moment but shook his head. "No, Mrs Patmore, I've hardly changed at all."

Mrs Patmore stared at Thomas in disbelief. Then she laughed and nudged him towards the servants' hall. "Let's not keep everyone waiting."


	46. It's My Job

**CHAPTER 46: IT'S MY JOB**

 **Late the next morning**

 **The Abbey Grounds**

"Timothy, look here!" Thomas jumped up and down behind Morgan, flapping his arms and making silly noises. Timothy faced Thomas and laughed gleefully as Morgan snapped a photo. Timothy was sitting on Anna's lap, and Anna was seated on a bench with Bates standing proudly at her side, one hand on Anna's shoulder and the other holding his hat.

Lord Grantham was taking his constitutional nearby with Tiaa. He caught sight of the camera and called, "What's all this?" as he approached Morgan.

Thomas quickly stepped between them. "My Lord, this is Arthur Morgan, Mr Novello's chauffeur. He was taking a Bates family photo."

"So I see."

Morgan held out his camera. "This is the latest Leica. It uses 35mm film. Is Your Lordship interested in photography?"

"We have professional portraits made of the family."

"Your Lordship's home is impressive. It deserves to have the work of a professional grace its walls. This camera is simple enough for amateurs, such as myself. I capture moments I want to remember and enjoy them later whenever I'm in the mood to open my album."

"I can understand the appeal of a photographic album," nodded Lord Grantham with polite tolerance and even a bit of sincere interest.

Thomas glanced at Tiaa. "If I may, my Lord, imagine taking photos of Miss Sybbie and Master George playing with Tiaa or learning to ride or licking the bowl after Mrs Patmore's frosted a cake."

Lord Grantham smiled. "You make it sound charming, Barrow."

"Your Lordship would have practical uses for a camera, too," added Morgan. "... cataloguing the Abbey's valuables, documenting a renovation."

"That's something to consider. Thank you, Morgan." Lord Grantham caught sight of Timothy, who was holding Anna's hand and toddling towards Tiaa.

"Da Da!" Timothy addressed the dog.

Bates sighed. "No, Timothy. _I'm_ Da Da."

Lord Grantham laughed as he clapped Bates on the back. "Such a sturdy little chap! Don't worry, Bates. He'll know his Da Da soon enough. At least he doesn't call you Donk!"

Lord Grantham merrily continued his walk, and Anna led Timothy back inside to the nursery. Bates and Thomas walked with Morgan to Thomas' pantry to retrieve his bag. Thomas was concerned about Morgan's long drive to London. "Aren't you too tired to drive so far? You didn't get much sleep last night."

"I'll drive for a few hours and find some place to pull off and nap. I did feel obliged this morning to keep my promise to Mrs Parker and hear her lecture about the gold standard."

Bates opened the door to the pantry. "How did that go?"

"I'll be damned if she didn't make it crystal clear!"

Thomas perched on the edge of his desk. "And were you able to make her understand about the Russian?"

"I asked her to speak Russian gibberish to me, and I translated what she said to Mrs Patmore. Once she understood the gag, she had a good giggle. She's such a serious little thing, it was a pleasure to hear her laugh! She asked me to come around and say goodbye before I leave."

"Then I suppose I must say goodbye." Thomas stood close to Morgan. "I'm sorry to see you go. I can't thank you enough for your many kindnesses, Morgan." He added in a whisper, "Especially after my little error that night."

"Don't be silly, Thomas. I've had a wonderful time."

Bates silently watched the two men embrace. That's not how the men he knew said goodbye, not even in private. It didn't seem as uncomfortable or improper as Bates would have thought. Perhaps that's how men should behave towards each other, but he would limit himself to shaking hands.

The three men walked to the kitchen. Daisy and Mrs Patmore surprised Morgan with a sack of goodies for his trip. Morgan surprised everyone by predicting that Daisy would run for local office one day.

"What a notion!" scoffed Mrs Patmore, but the men could see that Daisy took the prediction to heart.

* * *

 **That evening**

 **The Dining Room**

Thomas stood erect at his usual station and scanned the dining room peripherally to see if anything was wanting. He caught sight of Lady Mary, who appeared to be in distress. She was keeping up her end of the conversation with Lord Merton, but she was fidgeting, which was unlike her, and she seemed flushed. When Minnie arrived with the roast course, Thomas met her at the sideboard. "If anyone asks, say that the phone in the vestibule has been ringing, and I went to answer it," he whispered. Minnie nodded.

Thomas left the dining room and strode quickly to the vestibule where paper and pencils were kept by the telephone. He jotted a quick note and returned post-haste to the dining room. He placed the note on a salver and handed it to Lady Mary.

Lady Mary read the note.

 _May I escort you to your room  
and ring Dr Clarkson for you?  
You can say that you  
have an urgent call._

Lady Mary picked up the note, folded it, and rose from her chair. "Please excuse me. I have an urgent telephone call. I apologize, Papa, but I'll need Barrow. You can manage with Minnie for a bit, can't you?"

After a brief debate with Lord Grantham, Lady Mary left the dining room with Thomas at her elbow. "How did you know?"

"It's my job to know, milady."

"I appreciate your discretion, Barrow. It would be inconsiderate of me to throw everyone into a tizzy, only to have it be a false alarm."

Barrow was not certain what she meant but answered, "Yes, milady." It was an all-occasion reply.

When they reached the stairs, Lady Mary turned to Thomas. "There's no need for you to accompany me to my room. Please ring Dr Clarkson and send Anna to me."

"I beg Your Ladyship's pardon. I know I'm overstepping, but I'd like to see you safely up the stairs."

Lady Mary sighed. "Come along then, Barrow. I don't have the wherewithal at the moment to argue with a Russian prince."

"Da, milady."

Lady Mary smiled wanly. As they reached the top of the stairs, she clutched the banister and groaned. Thomas wanted to take her arm but hesitated. "What's wrong, milady? Shall I fetch Mr Talbot?"

Lady Mary was in no mood for discussion. As she leaned one arm on the banister, she reached up with her free hand and pushed Thomas from her. "No! Let me breathe!" Once the pain subsided, she turned to apologize to Thomas for her rude behaviour, but he wasn't there. She looked down the stairs, and there was Thomas, sitting askew on the bottom step.

Mary descended the steps as quickly as she could manage. "Gracious, Barrow, what happened?"

Thomas did not respond.

"I gave you the tiniest of shoves. You must have lost your balance. Are you all right?"

"What?"

"Barrow, look at me."

Tomas looked up at Lady Mary. "What happened, milady?"

"I was having a contraction, and I wanted you to step back a bit. I'm terribly sorry, Barrow."

"A contraction?"

"Are you able to stand, Barrow?"

Thomas took hold of the banister and pulled himself to his feet. "Did you have a contraction when Master George was born, milady?"

"A woman has many contractions to deliver a baby."

"How dreadful, milady!"

"Yes, it is rather dreadful. When Dr Clarkson arrives, I'll ask him to have a look at your head. You have a lump coming on."

"Dr Clarkson?" Thomas asked, touching his forehead gingerly and wincing.

"Ring Dr Clarkson, Barrow, and have Anna come to my room. Are you able to remember that?"

"Anna doesn't have a phone, milady."

"No, she's here in the house. You're to ring Dr Clarkson and find Anna. Say it, Barrow."

"I'm to ring Dr Clarkson and find Anna."

"Now, Barrow!"

"Yes, milady!"

Barrow watched Lady Mary walk up the stairs. This time, her ascent was uninterrupted. "Barrow!" she called from the landing.

"Yes, milady."

"Ring Dr Clarkson and find Anna. Go!"

"Yes, milady."

Thomas felt unsteady, but he carried out his mission. He telephoned Dr Clarkson from the vestibule. " _Dr Clarkson? ... This is Thomas Barrow ... Lady Mary had a contraction, and I fell down the stairs._ _Are you coming? ... Shall I find Anna now? ... Yes, Dr Clarkson, I hit my head ... I feel a bit woozy, that's all ... Dr Clarkson, why can't you do something about those frightful contractions? ... Very well, Dr Clarkson ... Shall I find Anna? ... Very well._

Thomas hung up the telephone and proceeded to the servants' stairs. He felt a bit dizzy as he looked down the staircase and held onto the banister tightly as he slowly managed the steps. He found Anna in the servants' hall mending a blouse.

Anna was alarmed when she saw Thomas' bruised head. "Thomas, what happened?"

"A contraction! They're terrible things!" replied Thomas. "Anna, please go to Lady Mary's room. Dr Clarkson is on his way. I'll be in my pantry."

"But Thomas, your head!" Anna protested.

"You must go to Lady Mary at once, Anna," responded Thomas firmly. As soon as Anna started up the stairs, Thomas wobbled to his pantry, sat at his desk, and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _Some readers have expressed an interest in knowing which are the actual versus the fictional elements of Thomas' London adventure. I did not want to take too much license when including historical characters, but it can be challenging to differentiate truth from untruth. For example, one book on Churchill stated that both Winston and Clementine loved to gamble while another book on Clementine insisted that Clementine never gambled. (I choose to believe the former which quoted letters that were supposedly written by the couple and discussed their gambling habits.) Where the facts seemed unattainable, I allowed myself some literary license._

 _Please feel free to private message me if you have further questions about actual versus fictional content in my story. (You'll need a username to send a private message.)_

* * *

 **ACTUAL PEOPLE/DETAILS**

 ** _(in order of appearance, more or less)_**

Ivor Novello (birth name, David Ivor Davies)

Le Tabac Blanc (not the same formula as is sold today)

Arthur Walter Lionel Morgan

Novello's London flat on the top floor of the Strand Theatre (now the Novello Theatre)

Noël Coward

Bobbie Andrews (birth name, Reginald Frank Andrews)

Lord Castlerosse and _Londoner's Log_

Lloyd Williams

Gladys Cooper  
Does Thomas' giving Gladys Cooper a baby goat at a curtain call seem ridiculous? I based it on a story I had read about a pony being presented on stage to Cooper (for her daughter Joan) by producer, Charles Hawtrey, as a practical joke during the run of _The Naughty Wife_.

Constance Collier

Edward Marsh

Tallulah Bankhead

 _They Knew What They Wanted_

 _Down Hill_

Phyllis Monkman

Cecil Beaton and his Sisters, Nancy and Baba, his bedroom, his scrapbook

Edward 'Boy' Le Bas

Gurney

Savoy Hotel:  
George Reeves-Smith  
Walter Hore  
Mrs Kate Butler  
Harry Craddock  
Francois Latry  
Loreto Santarelli  
Victor, the Reception Clerk

Violet Lucy Eatwell Morgan

 _The Last of Mrs Cheyney_

Gerald Du Maurier

Ronald Squire

Siegfried Sassoon

Winston Churchill  
including his painting and bricklaying

Professor Frederick Lindemann

Maidie Andrews

 _Alice Through The Looking Glass_ (1903 London production)

* * *

 **FICTIONAL CHARACTERS with HISTORICAL DETAILS  
**

Garland Jobin and Lucas Bazin  
The 1916 Lille Munitions Depot Explosion tragedy actually happened.  
The Bantam Battalions were actual battalions created by the British at the beginning of WWI.

Henry (tennis player)  
 _Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion_ was an actual anti-Semitic publication, originating in Russia in 1903. Versions of the discredited text have reappeared from time-to-time.  
In the early 1920s, Henry Ford sponsored publication of 500,000 copies in the US.

* * *

 **BLUNDERS and MISCELLANEOUS COMMENTS**

BLUNDER: It is unlikely that Novello would have taken a train to Yorkshire without some semblance of his dedicated entourage in tow.

BLUNDER: In my story, Morgan has free time at his disposal during Novello's performances in _Down Hill_. In reality, I believe Morgan was a member of the cast under the name A.W. Morgan. OOPS!

BLUNDER: Originally, I had Gladys Cooper accompany Thomas and Bobbie in the _Hello, Dahling_ chapter to see _They Knew What They Wanted_. When I realized that Cooper was starring simultaneously in _The Last of Mrs Cheyney_ , I rewrote _Hello, Dahling_ and substituted Noël Coward for Cooper.

I was not able to learn anything about Morgan's personality and created a likeable fellow whom Novello would have wanted to keep in his employ.

I have no idea what it was like backstage at _Down Hill._

I don't know who Churchill's cook was at Chartwell during the summer of 1926. The "witch of a cook" in my story was pure fiction.

A funny thing happened on my way to watch _Gosford Park_ : I had been searching for a gay celebrity of 1926 to include in my story. After some research, I settled on Ivor Novello. Meanwhile, my partner had been encouraging me to see _Gosford Park_ because it was written by Julian Fellowes. I posted the first two Novello chapters to my story, and then my partner and I sat down to watch _Gosford Park_. We were shocked when a car pulled up to Maggie Smith's character and a passenger said, "I'm Ivor Novello." Shocked isn't quite the word. I was livid. I swore that I would never speak to Julian Fellowes again (not that I ever had or that he has ever heard of me). Someday, I'll get over myself and watch the end of the movie.


	47. Bonnie John

**CHAPTER 47: BONNIE JOHN**

 **Later that night**

 **John Bates' Old Room**

Bates made up the bed in his old room so that he could spend the night at the Abbey. Dr Clarkson had said that Thomas was suffering from a mild concussion and had to be awakened every two hours to make certain that his condition wasn't deteriorating. The sound of that frightened Bates, and he wanted to take responsibility for the task himself.

Bates and Henry had a to-do over it. Henry insisted that Lady Mary would want him to be the one to check on Thomas because she had caused his accident. Bates replied that Henry's place was with Lady Mary during her confinement. The truth was that Bates thought Henry would be too distracted by the coming baby to take proper notice of Thomas' condition.

Bates set the alarm clock he had taken from Thomas' room and closed his eyes. As he waited for sleep, he tried to sort out the events of the night. Anna had been the one to send Bates to the pantry so he could tend to Thomas. He found Thomas at his desk asleep or unconscious, he could not tell which. He was relieved when he was able to rouse Thomas easily enough, but Thomas was pale and had a lump and a nasty scrape on his forehead.

Bates gathered a basin and soap and the other items he needed to wash the scrape, but Thomas was not cooperative. When a knock sounded at the door, it was not Dr Clarkson, but Minnie who joined them. She paused at the door and greeted Thomas cheerfully, "Hello, Mr Barrow."

Thomas smiled. "Hello, Dimples."

Bates was surprised by Thomas' inappropriate familiarity. Thomas usually was a stickler for maintaining propriety among the Abbey staff. Bates chided him lightly, "Mr Barrow, you aren't so injured that you may forget where you are."

"I know, John. Do you think I've knocked all the sense out of my head? Now get that confounded soap away from me. It stings."

"Let me." Minnie took the soap and flannel from Bates. Although the flannel was already soapy, Minnie placed it in the basin and soaped it again as she began to sing:

"Ma, he's making eyes at me!  
Ma he's awful nice to me!  
Ma he's almost breaking my heart,  
I'm beside him, Mercy!  
Let his conscience guide him!  
Ma, he wants to marry me,  
Be my honey bee.  
Ev'ry minute he gets bolder,  
Now he's leaning on my shoulder,  
Ma, he's kissing me!"

The American song had been around for a few years, but nobody could sing it as appealingly as Minnie sang it in her impish voice while she bounced gaily and batted her large luminous eyes. Thomas was delighted. Minnie sang another chorus while she washed his forehead:

"Ma, he's making eyes at me!  
Ma he's awful nice to me!  
Ma he's almost breaking my heart,  
If you peek in, Can't you see I'm goin' to weaken?  
Ma, he wants to marry me,  
Be my honey bee.  
Ma, I'm meeting with resistance,  
I shall holler for assistance,  
Ma, he's kissing me!"

Bates observed Minnie and Thomas in silence. When Minnie finished washing the injury, Bates asked her to check on Dr Clarkson. He waited until Minnie was down the corridor before he turned and interrogated Thomas. "Does Minnie know about you?"

"Know what?"

"That you're not the marrying kind."

"Doesn't everyone here know that?" Thomas countered wryly. "Why are you being so cross, John? I'm the one who hit my head."

"Because that woman has a crush on you, and she's going to get hurt if you don't set her straight."

"Minnie?" scoffed Thomas, but Bates didn't smile. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I really think so."

"I didn't realize. I'll speak to her tomorrow, John, I promise. Now please stop scolding. My head is splitting."

"I know, little brother," Bates replied sympathetically. "I don't want to give you aspirin without Dr Clarkson's permission. Thomas ...?"

"Yes?"

"You are aware, aren't you, that Minnie used the exact same soap I did."

Thomas shrugged. "She has a lighter touch."

When Minnie returned, she reported that Dr Clarkson had examined Lady Mary and that the baby should arrive in a few hours. He had been waylaid by the family but promised to be down in 15 minutes.

Thomas was more formal with Minnie now. If she noticed, she did not let on. Thomas looked at the clock. "Minnie, shouldn't you still be serving dinner?"

"I should, but dinner was cut short."

"What?" Thomas tried to stand, but Bates held him back in his seat.

"When Lady Mary didn't come back to the dining room, Mr Talbot went looking for her. I was serving the salad course when he returned and said, 'The salad be damned! My wife's in labour!' There was so much excitement that the family didn't hear the Dowager say, 'Robert, your son-in-law's speaking French!'" Bates chuckled.

"Then Mr Talbot told about Lady Mary accidentally knocking Mr Barrow down the stairs. Everyone held their breath until Mr Talbot announced that you would live to buttle another day, Mr Barrow. The family fairly skipped up the stairs to Lady Mary's room except for the Dowager and Lord Merton. The Dowager told Lord Merton that in her day the British upper classes never would have allowed something as ordinary as the birth of a child to interrupt an orderly dinner. Then she pointed out that she had given birth to two children and never found it necessary to hurl a servant down the stairs or anywhere else for that matter."

The three shared a good laugh. "Old Lady Grantham always has the last word," remarked Thomas sleepily. "I like that I can count on her for that." Bates and Minnie kept Thomas talking until Dr Clarkson knocked.

Dr Clarkson arrived with Henry, who had been dispatched by Lady Mary to offer her profuse apologies for causing Thomas' accident. Dr Clarkson sent Minnie from the room so he could examine Thomas. "Do you remember how you hurt your head?" he asked as he checked Thomas' reflexes.

"Yes. Lady Mary had a contraction," explained Thomas.

Dr Clarkson dropped the reflex hammer into his bag. "Excuse me a moment." He stepped into the corridor, and Bates followed anxiously. He could see a tear trickle down the side of Dr Clarkson's tired face and was terrified to hear what he had to say. Dr Clarkson took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his forehead. "That was the funniest thing I've ever heard." Without further comment, he returned to the pantry and continued his examination.

"What's your name."

"Thomas Barrow."

"Where are we?"

"My pantry at the Abbey."

"Whose estate is this?"

"Lord Grantham's"

"That's fine. One more question. What is today's date?"

Thomas hesitated. "It's summer. It's July or June ... a month with a J ... or is it August?"

Bates could see that Thomas was beginning to panic. He placed his hands firmly on Thomas' shoulders. "It's a temporary condition, Mr Barrow. Isn't that right, Dr Clarkson?"

"Most likely you'll be fine in a day or two," agreed Dr Clarkson. "Hand him the basin, Mr Bates. I do believe he's about to vomit." Bates set the basin in front of Thomas in the very nick. Dr Clarkson clapped Thomas on the back. "You feel better now, don't you?"

Thomas said nothing as he remained drooped over the basin. Bates leaned over and whispered to Thomas, "Don't be embarrassed. We've all done it." Thomas nodded.

Bates could see that Thomas was shaken as they walked up the stairs to the attic. He kept one hand on Thomas back as they climbed.

"Ivor has many female friends," Thomas muttered.

"What's that?"

"I said that Ivor has many friends who are women. Glads is one of his best friends."

"Glads?"

"Gladys Cooper. I don't see why I can't have female friends."

"Who says you can't?"

"You did!"

"You're confused, little brother. I only said that you mustn't mislead Minnie. You must tell her that friendship with you could never lead to marriage."

"Oh, that's all?"

"That's all."

"I'll tell her tomorrow, John." Thomas stopped and took hold of John's coat. "Will you remind me if I forget?"

"I will, but you don't need to worry. Didn't Dr Clarkson say your memory would recover in a day or so?"

"I hope so, John. It's a frightening thing not to remember."

They continued up the stairs, Thomas taking each step even more slowly than Bates with his cane.

"John ... ?"

"Yes?"

"I'm moving to the States, you know."

Bates felt his heart sink to the bottom of the stairwell.

"Not right away, but in a year or two perhaps, when I find the right situation. Having me go will be a relief to you, won't it, John ... you and Anna not having to be bothered by a third wheel ... you not having to rescue me all the time?"

"What a thing to say!"

"It's the truth, isn't it, John?"

"No, it's not the truth, Thomas!"

Thomas stopped climbing and turned to Bates. "I didn't mean to upset you, John. I only meant that it must be taxing to have me always at the cottage ... always causing problems ... now, for instance."

"Hitting your head wasn't your fault!"

"You didn't have to stay tonight, you know. Mr Talbot would have checked on me."

"But you're my little brother!"

"But I'm not really, John."

Bates was crushed.

"Please don't be offended, John. I'm not saying it right. I'm not saying what I mean."

"Dr Clarkson wants you to rest, Thomas. You need to go to bed. We'll talk about it tomorrow when your head is clearer."

Thomas turned, and the two plodded up the stairs. As Thomas undressed, Bates opened a drawer to retrieve a pair of pyjamas. He caught sight of the red silk pyjamas. "What's this?"

"They were a gift from Ivor. They're my London pyjamas," joked Thomas.

"But you could wear them here if you wanted!" accused Bates.

"I know, John. Why are you angry? If you want me to wear them, I'll wear them."

"No, I ... I didn't mean to snap at you. Here." Bates handed Thomas another pair of pyjamas and pulled back the covers from Thomas' bed. "I'll borrow your alarm clock, if you don't mind."

"All right." Thomas set his pillow against the headboard and sat in bed.

"You're to go to sleep, Thomas."

"I was sleepy before but not now."

"Thomas, lie down," insisted Bates.

Reluctantly, Thomas set his pillow flat on the bed and lay back. Bates eased himself onto the edge of the bed. "Thomas, when I had the flu, you asked me why I call you little brother. I didn't give you a proper answer. Shall I tell you now?"

Thomas gazed up at Bates with his soft blue eyes and grinned. "A bedtime story?"

Bates laughed. "That's right, a bedtime story. So I should begin _once upon a time_ ...?"

"That's right. _Once upon a time there was a handsome prince_ ..."

Bates laughed again. "I like that. _Once upon a time there was a handsome prince known as Bonnie John. He was the Queen's first born, and she was so pleased with him that she decided to have a castle full of children. But a wicked witch must have put a spell on the good Queen because every baby after Bonnie John was stillborn._ "

"Oh, John!"

" _The good King and Queen were sad, and Bonnie John grew up in a castle of sorrow. The other princes lived in noisy castles with noisy brothers and noisy sisters, but Bonnie John was alone. He loved the good King and Queen, but he longed for a noisy home and a noisy little brother._ "

"But, John, there was a _happily ever after_ when the prince grew up."

"I'm not finished. _When Bonnie John grew up, he married a beautiful princess, but Bonnie John felt something was missing. He still wanted to live in a noisy castle with a noisy little brother. One day Bonnie John met another prince, but the other prince was horrid._ "

"But handsome, John. The other prince was handsome, too."

"Have it your way. _The other prince was horrid and handsome and was known in the land as Terrible Thomas. Bonnie John didn't care that Terrible Thomas was handsome, and he didn't like that Terrible Thomas was horrid. He knew that they would never be friends. Then one day Bonnie John was riding his white steed by the edge of the world when he saw Terrible Thomas sitting with his legs dangling off. Bonnie John asked, 'What are you doing?' and Terrible Thomas answered, 'I'm tired of this world, and I think I should jump off the edge.' Bonnie John thought and asked ... he asked ..._ " John could not continue.

Thomas took John's hand. "I know the rest. _Bonnie John asked Terrible Thomas to stay and be his noisy little brother, and Terrible Thomas thought it was a good idea, and they all lived happily ever after in the noisy castle._ "

"That's right."

"Is that a true story, John, about the Queen and the stillborn babies?"

"Yes. There were five. I can't remember the first; I was too young. But I remember the others. My parents never gave up trying, but the doctor never had an answer."

"How awful for your mother, John ... for all of you."

Bates nodded. "Yes, that's why I married so young."

"John ... even little brothers have to make a living. The world is changing, and sooner or later Downton will have to reduce its staff. You could be a butler-valet. I'll make certain of it. But I'll have a better chance in the States."

"That's fine, Thomas, but you'll be my little brother wherever you are. You won't take that away from me, will you? I know it's a game to you ...

"It's never been a game to me John. It saved my life. But I didn't know that ... I didn't understand ..."

"What? That Bonnie John could love Terrible Thomas?" Bates laughed. "Then no, you didn't understand." Bates picked up the alarm clock and went to the door. "I'll see you in two hours. You've had your story. Now go to sleep!"


	48. Personal Correspondence - July 1926

**CHAPTER 48: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - JULY 1926**

* * *

Downton  
13 July 1926

I have the pleasure to announce that The Lady Mary Talbot, my beloved wife, was safely delivered of a daughter at 2:37 A.M. today:

 _Katherine Elise Talbot._

Mother and baby are both well.

We appreciate your many expressions of affection and joy.

Henry Talbot

* * *

 _Robert Crawley  
Earl of Grantham_

 _Downton_  
 _18 July 1926_

 _My Darling Edith,_

 _We are delighted by your news. Of course Mary doesn't mind that you made your announcement at the time of Katherine's birth. She is content, and you are entitled to squeeze every bit of enjoyment out of the experience that you were denied the first time. I'm certain that Bertie is up to the task of spoiling you as you should be._

 _You asked how George is handling the birth. His nose was out of joint at first, but Barrow knew how to perk him up. He printed Big Brother on a piece of cardboard and pinned it to George's shirt. Then he gave George a box and coached him on how to demand a big brother tax from every person he met for the next two days. Barrow started him off with a pair of shoelaces, Bates gave him a few buttons, and I gave him an old pair of cuff links. He collected quite a few little boy treasures in the box and enjoys showing them off to his baby sister. I wouldn't worry about Marigold. You'll find a way to make the prospect of a new sibling exciting._

 _Will it still be convenient for us to visit next month?_

 _Affectionately,_

 _Papa_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton  
18 July 1926_

 _My Darling City Mouse,_

 _I hope this letter finds you happy and in the midst of friends._

 _I have only now returned from dinner at the Bates cottage, and my heart is in a jumble._

 _I told the Bates of my plan to be a hotelier in the States. If I had been a butler before the war, I would have felt set for life. But as John and Anna both know, the aristocracy is not what is was, and none of us is set for life._

 _I told them about the Prof and what he said when we ate with Churchill. Do you remember how he wants to breed a separate race of people, helots he called them, who will have no desires of their own and be content to do all the unsavoury tasks that people require? He was including the work that I do, wasn't he? He thinks I should be a beast with no trace of humanity. What a dreadful man! But you and I both know that the British aristocracy would be the first in line to take home their matched set of helots if there were such a thing._

 _John asked why I feel I must leave England. I explained that, if I stay, I'll be one more British servant trying to rise above himself. In the States, I'll be a novelty, perhaps even a bit of an exotic._

 _But, Ivor, how will I ever do it? How will I ever tear myself away from my Bonnie John and his darlings? They sweeten my life with so much affection that I can't bear the thought of leaving them. Even John, as stiff as he can be, throws his arm around my neck and pretends to wrestle me when I disagree with him, and I love it. He tousles my hair because I hate it (but not really). I know it's his way of making me one of his darlings. I returned from London thinking I could build an exciting future for myself, but how will I ever find the courage to leave?_

 _I miss you, my darling. I miss seeing your lovely face at breakfast and kissing you goodnight before bed._

 _With all my love,_

 _Your Country Mouse_

* * *

 _John Bates_

 _Downton_  
 _19 July 1926_

 _My Dear Ivor,_

 _I am writing you for two reasons. First, I want to congratulate you on the extended run of Down Hill, even if it does mean moving the kit and kaboodle to another theatre._

 _Second, I want to tell you how deeply touched I am by your gift and thoughtful note. You're right. I've done all I can to rid myself of my limp. It's part of me now, and I may as well flaunt it. It's a war medal, after all._

 _Yes, the stick is more than sturdy enough to support me. I am charmed by the ram's head and how the cunning curve of the horns forms the handle. My old cane goes into the missionary barrel tomorrow._

 _I don't know why a ram made you think of me. I can assume it's only that we're both virile._

 _Your devoted friend,_

 _John Bates_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton_  
 _19 July 1926_

 _My Darling City Mouse,_

 _I'm certain that John has written to thank you for the walking stick. I'm writing to tell you the truth of it._

 _He had no idea what to expect when he opened the package, but his eyes shone with utter delight when he pulled out the carved cane. You should see him strut about with the thing. He thinks himself quite the dandy now._

 _He's named the stick the Old Ram. Instead of asking us to hand him his cane, he'll say, "Toss me the Old Ram." If someone asks where he purchased it, he answers nonchalantly that it was a gift from an admirer._

 _You've made my Bonnie John happy, and that makes me happy._

 _With all my love,_

 _Your Country Mouse_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton_  
 _21 July 1926_

 _My Dear Morgan,_

 _I'm pleased to hear of your upcoming (and well-deserved) vacation in Clovelly with Vi. However will Ivor manage without you?_

 _I received your photos and enjoyed them immensely. My favourite is the one of Ivor and Bobbie sitting in camp chairs and eating chocolates while I'm changing the tyre. I was so concentrated that I hadn't noticed their antics. Another favourite is the one of me in that dressing gown sitting with Noël. I have too many favourites!_

 _The staff appropriated the photos and passed them around the breakfast table, giggling and commenting and asking questions. Anna rescued them and has promised to arrange them in a scrapbook she's made for me. It has all the newspaper stories and that Nerman caricature of Glads, the goat, and me that was published last week in The Tattler. Do others see me as Nerman does? How dreadful! No wonder The Butler had to go into hiding!_

 _You'll be pleased to hear that Lord Grantham took a trip to Ripon last week and purchased a Leica camera, the same as yours. You're quite the salesman! He's much enamoured of his new hobby. He's made two more trips to Ripon for instruction and is thinking of setting up his own darkroom and starting a gentlemen's camera club. His new granddaughter's life will be fully documented in photos, but Lady Mary is ready to toss the camera out the window. His Lordship had the unmitigated gall to take a photo of her before she had gotten her figure back._

 _Now here's the part you won't believe. Yesterday morning at our regular after-breakfast meeting in the library, His Lordship asked me if Mrs Patmore was sufficiently recompensed for her work. I asked if Mrs Patmore had complained. No, she hadn't said a word, but the day before, His Lordship thought it would be fun to take photos of Mrs Patmore preparing dinner for the family and some guests. He had no idea of the complexity and demands of her job. Can you imagine! After all these years, he finally appreciates her dedication to expanding his waistline. What other miracles will the camera bring?_

 _That's not all. This morning, I found a package on my desk. It contained another Leica camera, but it wasn't from His Lordship. He had selected it, but it was a gift from Lady Mary - an apology for a minor accident last week that's too silly to mention. I'll keep the camera at the Bates cottage so I can take pictures of Timothy. His Lordship is full of advice, so I expect to be an expert in no time. I only wish I had your excellent eye._

 _I miss your good company and look forward to our reunion next summer._

 _With all my affection,_

 _Thomas_

* * *

 _Beryl Patmore_

 _Downton_  
 _21 July 1926_

 _Dear Mr Novello,_

 _I hope it is not presumptuous of me to write you directly to thank you for the lovely autographed picture and the silver frame for me to hang in my bed and breakfast. I know from the inscription that Mr Morgan put you up to it. Imagine you writing that I'm the best cook in Yorkshire and beyond._

 _How do I thank you for something like that? Nothing could impress my patrons more._

 _Your grateful and devoted servant,_

 _Beryl Patmore_

* * *

 _Gladys Cooper_

 _Charlwood  
22 July 1926_

 _My Dear Thoms,_

 _I was delighted to receive your letter. I didn't know they had paper and ink in the wilderness. I'm flattered that you would come to me for advice, so here it is._

 _I'm afraid your friend, John, is right to be concerned. Even if this young woman knows that you have no romantic interest in her gender, she may think that she can change you. When I first met Ivor, I thought I could change him. (We would have made the perfect couple if not for that little flaw, don't you think?) I'm a pragmatic woman and saw almost immediately that I was fooling myself. Sadly, some women aren't so practical and waste years believing their fantasies will come true._

 _It is not enough that you tell this woman you are not the marrying kind. You must make it clear to her that you will_ _never_ _be the marrying kind under any circumstances. If you are certain she is convinced, then you should feel free to enjoy her friendship. She sounds like a happy, hearty soul, and that's what you need._

 _Butler is happy at Charlwood now that we've purchased a second baby goat. Goats are herd animals and BLEAT LOUDLY ALL NIGHT (as we discovered) if they don't have a hoofed friend. Butler is a girl, by the way, so we've changed her name. My daughter, Joan, insisted on naming the two kids, Jenny and Rose, after the Dolly sisters._

 _The next time you come to London, you must come to Charlwood, my own little piece of wilderness._

 _With bleating affection,_

 _Glads_

* * *

 _Loreto Santarelli_

 _Savoy Hotel  
23 July 1926_

 _My Dear Barrow,_

 _I am pleased to hear that you are devising a plan to leave service. While I understand that your present financial situation imposes a delay, I advise you not to waste valuable time. Try your hand at a small business locally. You understand service. Now you must learn about profit and loss, publicity, and the other business elements of operating a hotel. What is your little village missing that you can provide?_

 _I hope you have found this helpful. It is a privilege to advise you as best I can. I would not be where I am today without the advice of others who wanted me to succeed._

 _Your servant,_

 _Loreto Santarelli_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton  
25 July 1926_

 _My Darling City Mouse,_

 _How giddy I am tonight! I have returned from another evening at the Bates cottage, but this time I wasn't a third wheel. I brought Minnie, the parlourmaid of whom I've spoken. She's quickly becoming a close friend. She's intelligent and well-read, and she's so much fun! Her nieces and nephews keep her up on all the latest songs and dances. Tonight she taught Anna the black bottom while John and I watched. I was pleased not to have to leave John alone on the sofa to watch by himself._

 _Minnie suspected that I had censored my London stories when speaking to the staff and insisted on hearing the unabridged versions. I acted out my first lesson with Garland, and that had them in stitches. Minnie wanted to hear more about you. I told how the flat was filled with guests when I first arrived and how nervous I was. Then I asked if they wanted to see how you greeted me at the door. They all demanded to see, so I clasped John's face and gave him a big kiss on the mouth. Anna and Minnie thought it was hilarious. John gave his considered opinion that it was better that you kissed me like that in public than behind closed doors. (I won't tell him what happened behind closed doors.)_

 _How is it that, as I make the decision to leave Downton, I'm having so much fun?_

 _I hope you had some fun yourself today while your sets were being moved to the Princes. I'm certain you will be as big a hit there as at the Queens._

 _I miss you as always,_

 _Love,_

 _Your Country Mouse_

* * *

 _The Lady Mary Talbot_

 _Downton  
27 July 1926_

 _Dear Edith,_

 _I'm glad to hear that you aren't too burdened with morning sickness. Neither was I. It's a trait we Crawley women must share._

 _Today was my first day in the breakfast room since Katherine was born, and the oddest thing happened. The hall boy (yes, we still have one of those) carried in a large package. It appeared to be either a painting or mirror, and Mrs Hughes wanted to know to which room it was to be taken. The package had the Abbey address but no name, and none of us had the slightest idea about it. Papa thought perhaps Mama had purchased something and ordered the package to be opened._

 _The boy opened the package and pulled out an unframed painting. I could see a small envelope attached to the back and asked the boy to bring it to me. Meanwhile Papa took a look at the canvas and made a face. He does hate anything painted in the last 70 years._

 _To whom do you suppose the envelope was addressed? Barrow! He was serving us, as usual, and I apologized and handed him the note. Papa asked Barrow if he had ordered "that monstrosity", and Barrow replied that he hadn't ordered anything. Papa asked Barrow to take a look at the offending canvas. When Barrow saw the painting, he became excited. He carried it across the room and told Papa that it must be viewed from a distance to be appreciated. It was an oil painting of a boy in a boat, and I thought it was charming. It would look lovely in George's room._

 _I asked Barrow if he knew who sent it, and he replied only that I wouldn't believe him if he said. I asked if I could see the note. He read the note to himself, smiled, and handed it to me. The stationery was stamped:_

 _11, Downing Street  
Whitehall_

 _The message read, "To a man who isn't really Russian from a man who isn't really an artist. Winston"_

 _I showed the note to Papa, who read it twice in case his eyes deceived him. Then he ordered the boy to put the painting in Barrow's room._

 _There are more things in heaven and earth, my dear sister, than are dreamt of in our philosophy._

 _Your sister,_

 _Mary_


	49. Personal Correspondence - August 1926

**CHAPTER 49: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - AUGUST 1926**

* * *

 _Ivor Novello_

 _Aldwych_  
 _London_  
 _17 August 1926_

 _Darling,_

 _I've enclosed a photo that Morgan took of us at the flat. Forgive me for asking Morgan to withhold it. I don't know why I did that. I suppose it's the way I'm looking at you that made me embarrassed to send it. I didn't want you to see me at my most vulnerable._

 _The photo is too lovely for me to keep to myself. It's how I want you to think of me thinking of you._

 _With tenderness,_

 _Your City Mouse_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton  
24 August 1926_

 _My Darling City Mouse,_

 _I keep the photo you sent on my chest of drawers to comfort me when I'm alone._

 _I thought I was only one of your many favourites, another of your harem. I see from your gaze in the photo that I was something more. I didn't understand, and I'm embarrassed by the fuss I made and the rules I set between us._

 _With all my heart,_

 _Your Country Mouse_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton_  
 _30 August 1926_

 _My Darling City Mouse,_

 _I feel as though I'm writing you in a dream, because what happened today can't be real._

 _I didn't know that the Bates had been busy discussing Timothy's opportunities for the future. They even had a meeting, in strictest confidence, with Tom Branson, Lady Mary's brother-in-law. (He took you on your tour of properties when you were here.) Mr Branson lived in the States for a time with his daughter, and John and Anna wanted to benefit from his insights._

 _After much consideration, the Bates have concluded that their son would fare better in the States. They came to my pantry after lunch today and asked me to consider pooling our efforts and resources and emigrating together._

 _What was there for me to consider? Certainly I want to emigrate with them. I gave them one condition. They must hold a healthy portion of their savings in reserve for Timothy's sake._

 _It is a dream - a dream come true. Why am I so scared? I shall kiss your picture for luck!_

 _With all my love,_

 _Your Country Mouse_


	50. Personal Correspondence - September 1926

**CHAPTER 50: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - SEPTEMBER 1926**

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton  
15 September 1926_

 _My Dear Santarelli,_

 _Congratulations on your appointment as manager of the Savoy Restaurant! I heard the news from Ivor and Bobbie who feel, as do I, that the restaurant could not be in better hands._

 _I have tried to follow your advice but have been frustrated in my attempt to find a local business opportunity that will not interfere with my duties as butler. That is, until yesterday. I asked a friend what she thought was missing from Downton. Without hesitation, she answered, "A dance hall." (Why didn't I ask her sooner?) She's right. The nearest dance hall is in Ripon, which means a man must pay not only for two admissions but for two round-trip train tickets._

 _Now that I have the idea, I feel like a babe. I haven't any notion how to begin and am eager for your advice._

 _Your devoted student,_

 _Thomas Barrow_

* * *

 _The Lady Mary Talbot_

 _Downton  
16 September 1926_

 _Dear Edith,_

 _No, I never had a craving for malt vinegar over cake, but I did have one I indulged for raspberry sauce over kippers. If Henry didn't leave me when he saw me eating that concoction, then our marriage must be solid._

 _I've enclosed some photos of George and Katherine. You must have Bertie buy you a camera for Christmas. You'll have such fun taking pictures of Marigold and the new baby._

 _I'm curious to know what experience you're having with your servants. It seems that working in service on an important estate is not considered the advantage it once was. Barrow asked me today for permission to operate a business outside the Abbey as long as it didn't interfere with his duties. I was flabbergasted. And frankly, I was surprised that he asked my permission and didn't operate it on the q.t. I was surprised even more when I gave him my permission._

 _I was swayed by Barrow's eloquent words on the subject. He understood that no matter my loyalty to those who have served the household for years, my first loyalty was to George and Katherine. He felt no bitterness because he believed that was as it should be. He asked if I would deny him the right to prepare himself for the day when I might be forced to choose between loyalties. What could I say?_

 _I was so stunned by the conversation that I didn't think to ask him the nature of the business. What do you suppose he's conjured up in that mind of his?_

 _Your sister,_

 _Mary_

* * *

 _Loreto Santarelli_

 _Savoy Hotel  
20 September 1926_

 _My Dear Barrow,_

 _You've made a start. Don't overdo. You don't need to build a dance hall and create a permanent business on your first attempt. Rent a space and hold one dance. Tie it to some special promotion or local event to help you build interest and momentum. It doesn't have to be a grand ball. A successful, profitable tea dance would be sufficient._

 _Set simple goals:_

 _1\. Good attendance;_

 _2\. A satisfied clientele who look forward to your next dance;_

 _3\. A profit (even a small one)._

 _Begin scouting locations and bands and looking for that special promotion._

 _Your servant,_

 _Loreto Santarelli_

* * *

 _Ivor Novello_

 _Blackpool_  
 _27 September 1926_

 _Darling,_

 _You worry too much! Bobbie and I ask business favours of our friends, and vice versa, all the time. The answer is either yes or no, but no one feels ill-used._

 _I would be honoured to be a part of your first business venture. I could do a personal appearance on 23 October before the company plays Hull. Will that give you enough time to prepare? We're all excited for you._

 _I'm terribly curious to meet your friend, Minnie. Ask her to save me a dance!_

 _I'll see you soon!_

 _Much love,_

 _City Mouse_


	51. Personal Correspondence - October 1926

**CHAPTER 51: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - OCTOBER 1926**

* * *

Downton Village Hall

Dance To-night.

Personal Appearance by  
 _IVOR NOVELLO_

Learners 7:30-8 ~ Dancing 8-12 ~ Admission 2/6

Refreshments Available at Moderate Prices ~ Tea and Biscuits Free

Evening Dress Not Essential

* * *

 _Ivor Novello_

 _Hull_ _  
_ _October 25, 1926_

 _My Darling Minnie,_

 _I want to thank you for your exuberant letter. I asked you to dance five times because you were the best dancer. It's no wonder Thomas selected you to do the teaching. I peeked at you during the lesson from the little privacy tent Thomas set up for me. I decided then and there that I would partner you for as many dances as you would allow._

 _I believe Thomas was quite jealous, but sadly for me, there was no reason. He's a better dancer than I and has those ridiculously long legs. The two of you were a delicious couple - like Fred and Adele._

 _Affectionately,_

 _Ivor Novello_

* * *

 _Ivor Novello_

 _Hull  
October 25, 1926_

 _Darling,_

 _How often have I told you that you worry too much? I'm certain no one saw me slip out yesterday morning. It was 4 a.m.! I was relieved that Morgan waited for me, even if he was a bit irate. I'll make it up to him._

 _Will you stop worrying long enough for me to congratulate you? CONGRATULATIONS! You made a profit. It doesn't matter how much. Not losing money on your first effort is an excellent beginning._

 _I don't want to hear you say again that you were successful only because of me! Would you say that Santarelli is successful only because of his chef? Santarelli sets the scene for his chef to shine, and you set the scene Saturday night for me to shine. You were the one who danced so sweetly with every wallflower. I didn't see one disappointed face all night._

 _I'm done scolding._

 _I adore your darling Minnie! I can see why you enjoy her company. Clearly, Tom Branson enjoyed her company too. I thought it odd that he attended unaccompanied. I do believe he was sent as a spy by your Lady Mary. Perhaps she was concerned about the respectability of your event. Don't fret! He can't have anything negative to report._

 _Darling, it meant a great deal to be with you again. How dear you are to me. Absence truly does make my heart grow fonder._

 _Love,_

 _Your City Mouse_


	52. Personal Correspondence - November 1926

**CHAPTER 52: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - NOVEMBER 1926**

* * *

 _Loreto Santarelli_

 _Savoy Hotel_  
 _1 November 1926_

 _My Dear Barrow,_

 _Enjoy your success! Yes, there were things you could have done better, and the analysis you sent me was excellent, but its tone was not. It does not benefit you to suffer over errors. Recognize them, correct them, and move forward._

 _You should have told me sooner that you have partners. If they are to be active partners, then you must include them in your next venture. Don't assume that because they are your friends and co-workers that you will have a smooth partnership. You will be making crucial, joint decisions that will affect your pocketbooks, and that can alter a friendship. Don't plough ahead on your own. You must involve your partners and establish a working relationship._

 _Your servant,_

 _Loreto Santarelli_

* * *

WANTED, High-class Syncopated BAND for Boxing Day Dance at Downton Village, from 8:30 p.m. - 2 a.m. Estimates (including number of instrumentalists) immediately to Mr J. Bates, 5688, District News.

* * *

 _Arthur W. Morgan_

 _London_  
 _11 November 1926_

 _My Dear Barrow,_

 _I know you will enjoy the enclosed photo of Garland and Lucas. They finally decided how to spend the money they won in our pool last summer. They bought the used combination in the photo. You can't tell from the photo, but the sidecar is bright green._

 _It's hilarious to watch Lucas stuff himself into the sidecar. His knees end up by his ears. They tried riding with Lucas on the motorcycle, but Garland didn't weigh enough, and the sidecar popped off the ground._

 _The two of them terrorize all of London careening about on the thing._

 _Noël's still pouting that he lost the bet by only two letters._

 _Your devoted friend,_

 _Arthur_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton  
29 November 1926_

 _My Dear Morgan,_

 _I was pleased to hear that Ivor's new play will allow you to enjoy Christmas at home this year instead of on the road._

 _I've enclosed a photo of Timothy taking his first steps last week. How clever of the little lad to wait until I had the camera ready. We were all astonished. He wasn't quite 11 months old. I've heard that's young for walking._

 _I'm becoming a fool over the boy, but I don't care. John and Anna hope to have a second baby, so I'll be doubly foolish!_

 _Fondly,_

 _Thomas_


	53. Personal Correspondence - December 1926

**CHAPTER 53: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - DECEMBER 1926**

* * *

 _Ivor Novello_

 _Aldwych_  
 _London_  
 _19 December 1926_

 _My Darling Country Mouse,_

 _Thank you for your sweet note of encouragement. I thought Liliom would be another easy rendition of The Rat character, but Liliom is more of a brute. We open on the 23rd, and I don't know how convincing I will be in the role._

 _I was happy to accommodate John and Anna for a couple of days, especially when you explained about Anna's surgery. It was wise of John to insist that the procedure be performed by the same doctor who managed Anna's last pregnancy. I was surprised that Timothy wasn't with them. I'm certain the little adventurer had fun camping in your room at night._

 _Morgan met John and Anna at the station, and I happened to be home from rehearsal when they arrived. Noël was here too, at my request, to help me with my performance. He's been acting since he was eleven, you know, and knows a thing or two about it._

 _Even though John and I have been corresponding, I was nervous about seeing him again. As you say, he can have an intimidating presence. When Morgan opened the door, Anna was clutching John's arm. No doubt she expected my flat to be an opium den. John's hat was pulled down over his eyes, and there he stood with a rather chilling aura about him. He made me think of Marley's Ghost._

 _What do you think he did? He pulled off his hat and asked, "Aren't you going to kiss me?" What could I do? I gave him a big kiss on the mouth. We all had a good giggle, and the ice was broken._

 _John and Anna understood the strain I was under and made no demands on me. They settled into their room, and Noël continued his acting lesson. After a time, John came out and sat with us. He had no desire to interrupt us but had been banished from the bedroom for being "too solicitous a husband". Poor fellow! The next thing I knew, the dear man was waiting on us, refilling our drinks and bringing us sandwiches._

 _John listened to Noël's advice on playing a tough. I should plant my feet apart. I should hold my arms this way, not that, etc. John laughed, and Noël was indignant. John told Noël that he had been in prison and that none of his advice would have helped him survive. Noël didn't believe his prison story, and I didn't know what to think._

 _John gave me a wink, grabbed my lapels, and pulled me to my feet. He threatened me and pushed me backward. He slammed me against the wall, but with his hand behind my head to protect it (the sweetheart). He pressed his arm against my chest to pin me and brought his eyes to mine. If the wink hadn't forewarned me, I would have been terrified. (Honestly, I was anyway.)_

 _John leaned into me and challenged me to overpower him. "Don't convince the audience that you're tough. Convince me. Believe that I'll end your life, right here, right now. If you believe that, you'll find a way. I did when I was in prison, and I didn't have an audience."_

 _Noël was scribbling notes furiously. I tried to pull myself free of John's arm but he shook his head. "Struggling makes you seem weak. And your charm won't work on me; I'm too stupid. You must take command. Laugh at me. Belittle my weaknesses." I didn't know how to begin, so he coached me. "Make fun of my limp and my manhood. Tell me you've slept with my wife and make me believe it. Say it as though it's all a big joke to you. Don't let me see your fear." I tried, but I was too shaken. He took pity and released me. He told me that I was the younger of us and could have overpowered him. I only had to knock his bad leg from under him. He had succeeded because he caught me off-guard. Then John went to his room, returned with needle and thread, and sat sweetly, sewing on the button he had inadvertently popped off my coat._

 _Unfortunately for me, John and I had little time together. He read the play while I was sleeping and worked with me before and after rehearsals. My performance has improved thanks to him. I'm miscast, but at least I won't be laughed out of the West End._

 _Now then, you and I must do something about those funereal black suits of John's before your little tribe leaves for the States! We must introduce him to midnight blue._

 _I miss you, darling,_

 _Love,_

 _Your City Mouse_

* * *

 _Thomas Barrow_

 _Downton_  
 _28 December 1926_

 _My Dear Santarelli,_

 _I am pleased to report that we sold our last ticket two days before the dance. I'll send you an analysis and a profit/loss report for your feedback before the end of the week._

 _Once again you offered sound advice. My partnership with John and Anna Bates did require a test run. John and I disagreed vehemently within the first hour of our first meeting. I thought John's ideas were moth-eaten, and he thought mine were depraved. Anna thought John and I were all mouth and trousers. Thank god for Anna. She would chair our arguments and lead us to options that excited both John and me._

 _Still, it wasn't until John and Anna were obliged to go to London only ten days before the dance that I truly understood the value of the partnership. With John there to contain me, I could let my imagination take our venture anywhere. Without him, I became anxious and second-guessed myself into paralysis._

 _I will teach John to come out of the shadows, and he will teach me the elegance of restraint. Anna will keep us from killing each other. I am confident that ours will be a successful partnership._

 _Your grateful student,_

 _Thomas_


	54. Personal Correspondence - January 1927

**CHAPTER 54: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - JANUARY 1927**

* * *

 _1 January 1927_

 _My Beloved Husband,_

 _I want this note to be your first message of the New Year._

 _Have you noticed that my suitcase is missing from the door? I have unpacked it and put it away. I trust you as I trust myself, and I know that I will have no need of it until we're packed and ready to leave as a family._

 _Your adoring wife,_

 _Anna_

* * *

 _Robert Crawley  
Earl of Grantham_

 _Downton  
2 January 1927_

 _My Darling Edith,_

 _I hope you and Bertie had an enjoyable New Year's. Does the doctor still expect you to deliver mid-January?_

 _You won't believe what your mother and I were doing a week ago. We were costume judges at the Fancy Dress Boxing Day Dance arranged by Barrow, Bates and Anna who are business partners now. We don't know how they manage it, but their work at the Abbey hasn't suffered._

 _Your mother and I received a formal note asking us to judge. We assumed we'd been asked as a courtesy and intended to decline. Tom recommended we accept. The partnership is becoming influential in the village. Bates successfully promoted a new bike from Davies' Bicycles to raffle at the dance for the benefit of the library, and you know what a skinflint old Davies is. The library collection is Barrow's pet project now. How does a servant who's arranged one little dance become an influential businessman with a pet project?_

 _The raffle raised a tidy sum and Barrow handed the money to Headmaster Dawes at the dance to rousing applause. I thought the whole thing had been done for effect, but Bates told me later that Barrow was sincere. In the days when Barrow was socially adrift, books were his friends._

 _Tom says that Bates is a natural-born salesman. He promoted the costume prizes - bakery cakes, cinema tickets, that sort of thing. That may be, but it's Barrow who knows how to make fun. Even your sister let down her hair and said she may wear a costume next year. (Yes, your sister and Henry came to the dance. Mary claims she did it to oblige Anna, but we both know that she came to satisfy her curiosity.)_

 _I asked Tom how Anna fits into the partnership. He laughed and answered that she's the only one who can tame the big cats. I have no idea what he meant by that._

 _We plan to visit at the end of the month when you will have had a chance to recover. Will that be convenient?_

 _Affectionately,_

 _Papa_

* * *

 _The Lady Mary Talbot_

 _Downton  
17 January 1927_

 _Dear Edith,_

 _How clever of you to deliver your baby in January. It's much more pleasant than delivering in the heat of July as I foolishly did._

 _Rebecca Eve. What a lovely name!_

 _In case you're moping about as I did, waiting to fit into your favourite dress, I have another Barrow story for you. No one is fonder of Carson than I, but I must say that Barrow's reign as butler is proving far livelier._

 _I've told you that Barrow is the godfather of the Bates baby, Timothy. He's no baby now. He's had his first birthday. Anna tells me that Barrow takes his godfather duties to heart and reads to the boy whenever he visits. Barrow gave Timothy the new children's book, Winnie-the-Pooh, for Christmas. It's a charming book, by the way. Marigold would love it._

 _Barrow's been reading and reading the book to Timothy. Now the child says, "Pooh," whenever he sees Barrow. At first, Barrow was pleased, thinking that Timothy was asking for the book. He wasn't so pleased when he realized that the boy had christened him with a new name._

 _Yesterday, I innocently mentioned Barrow's new appellation to Papa. At dinner, Barrow was filling Papa's wine glass when Papa took aim and fired off, "Thank you, Pooh."_

 _Immediately, Barrow shot back, "You're welcome, Donk."_

 _You can imagine the ominous silence that fell over the room. Papa stood, his chest puffed out, and glared at Barrow. I thought he was going to usurp my authority and discharge Barrow on the spot. Instead, he smiled that charming smile of his and replied, "That's_ _Lord_ _Donk to you, Barrow."_

 _Barrow held Papa's chair as he sat and countered, "And it's_ _Mr_ _Pooh to Your Lordship."_

 _Papa was determined to have the last word. He insisted that Pooh was far worse than Donk. Barrow asked, "On what scale, Your Lordship?"_

 _Papa answered rather smugly, "Mine."_

 _Barrow should have let it go but retorted, "Ah, the_ _Donk_ _scale." Papa warned Barrow that he would be permitted only one of those during his career, and Barrow, who had dug in his heels, replied, "Likewise, Your Lordship."_

 _The debate ended with the appearance of the roast course, and I'm happy to report that Barrow remains our butler._

 _And that, my dear Edith, is the modern age!_

 _Your sister,_

 _Mary_


	55. Personal Correspondence - February 1927

**CHAPTER 55: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - FEBRUARY 1927**

* * *

 _John Bates_

 _23 February 1927_  
 _Downton_

 _My Dear Ivor,_

 _It's 3 a.m. Forgive me for dispensing with the rigmarole of letter-writing pleasantries. I'd rather get down to brass tacks and tell you of the extraordinary day I've had that will end with the writing of this letter._

 _As always, my day began before dawn. Anna and I were preparing to leave for the Abbey. You have no idea what it takes to ready a youngster as energetic as my toddlekins. I was gulping down my morning tea, without which I'm a bit of a bear. I almost tripped over Timothy, who was playing with my shoelaces, and spilled the tea down my shirt. That bit of spilled tea nearly altered the course of our lives. We were running late and Anna was impatient. She and Timothy left for the Abbey while I changed my shirt._

 _It was a blustery day here, and as I neared the Abbey, the wind took my hat. You may recall that a pretty piece of the River Swale runs behind the house. The wind carried my hat to the embankment, and as the Old Ram and I picked up pace to collect it, I caught sight of the coat Timothy had been wearing when he left the cottage. The coat was caught in some low-lying branches, and one sleeve was dragging in the water, a horrifying sight. I panicked and headed down the embankment to find my little family, but several days of rain had made the steep slope muddy and slick. The Old Ram stuck, and I lost my balance. I slid straight down the slope into the river. The shock of cold water unhinged me for a moment. The weather had made the current stronger than usual, and it carried me a few feet before I recovered my senses. Thankfully, I was able to reach up and grasp the end of a low tree limb. I tried to stand and walk out but my foot caught in a tree root, and the current pushed me down. There I was clinging to a branch with my bad leg caught and the freezing current trying to drown me. I was convinced that Anna and Timothy had drown already and told myself that I may as well let go and join them._

 _Still, I clung to the branch and fought the current and the dead weight of my clothes. I looked down the river for Anna and Timothy. There was a bend that formed a swimming hole where the water was calmer, and I thought perhaps the current had carried them there and released them. But I couldn't find any sign of them, and my hands were growing numb from the cold. I couldn't hold the limb much longer._

 _I heard a voice above the wind and looked up the embankment. I saw Thomas screaming for help, but it was early in the morning and no one was about. He was pulling off his clothes, and I realised that he intended to save me. I cried out begging him to save Anna and Timothy. He yelled to me that they were in the house. Thomas had come to retrieve Timothy's coat. There you have it. My attempt to save my little family had been nothing more than folly and was about to cost me my life._

 _I was losing my grip on the tree and shouted to Thomas that my foot was caught. He jumped in the water in his underclothes upstream of me. I heard him yelp when he hit the frigid water. As the current carried him to me, he shouted that he would release my foot and the current would take me to the bend where I could swim to the edge and walk out. I lost all courage and screamed that I couldn't swim! I could hear him cursing. He caught a branch and shouted that, no matter what, I must not take hold of him, or we would both drown. He didn't wait for my answer. He was under the water, and I could feel him wrapping his arm around my leg. I desperately wanted to take hold of him but forced myself to heed his warning. It seemed an eternity before he was able to pull my foot from its shoe. By then, the cold had taken command of my body. Thomas kept hold of me. He pulled my back to his chest and turned us so that the current carried us feet first to the swimming hole. He held me tightly and kept me afloat while he sputtered. I knew I was saved and would see Anna and my toddlekins again._

 _We were met at the edge of the swimming hole by Andy, our part-time footman, who had heard Thomas' screams on his way to the Abbey and came running. Thomas floated me out of the water to the blessed ground. He eased me out of my overcoat, turned me over with the rolled up coat under my belly, and forced me to unswallow the river._

 _The next few hours were a blur of faces and voices. I was in pain from the cold and shivering uncontrollably. Thomas was shivering too, but that didn't keep him from taking charge. I found myself in his pantry, which was in the nearest part of the house. Thomas had me wrapped in blankets like an Indian papoose, and I was lying on a mattress that Andy had carried down from the servants' quarters. Minnie, our parlourmaid, brought me hot soup, as there had been a rift in my friendship with tea. Thomas was determined to keep the incident from Anna until my condition improved. The dear man didn't want Anna to be shocked for fear it would affect the baby._

 _By lunch almost all was back to normal. The shivering had stopped, the mattress was gone, and Thomas was working at his desk. The only clue to the morning's misadventure was my mode of dress. While my clothes were drying, I was clad in Lord Grantham's own pyjamas, robe, and slippers, at His Lordship's insistence. One of the gardeners had recovered the Old Ram, and it was a comfort to have the stick at my side again._

 _Minnie brought Anna to the pantry. I told Anna what had occurred, and she flew to Thomas and covered his astonished face in kisses. She called him sweetheart, but I understood the sentiment and wasn't too jealous even though she gave him more kisses than she had given me!_

 _After lunch, Lord Grantham, himself, came to the pantry and escorted me to his dressing room, where he insisted I rest for the next few hours as our local doctor had recommended. When the doctor came by later to check on me, His Lordship summoned Thomas, Andy, and Anna to the dressing room. He wanted a full account of the morning's mishap. Anna explained that, on their walk to the Abbey, Timothy had slipped out of his too-big woollen coat, which he hates wearing, and the wind snatched it. I told how I had seen the coat but no Timothy and how I had landed in the river. Andy described Thomas' rescue of me, which he had witnessed while running from the road to the river. I asked Thomas why he hadn't gone back to the house for help instead of risking his life. He mumbled that if he had taken the extra time, the cold water would have incapacitated me, and I would have drowned. The doctor agreed with Thomas' assessment._

 _Lord Grantham shook Thomas' hand and proclaimed him a hero. There was a time when praise like that would have fuelled Thomas' swagger for weeks. Now he only shook his head and replied that His Lordship would have done the same. "The same and failed," His Lordship answered, and that was the truth of it. To his credit, His Lordship had a temporary fence installed immediately to prevent another accident._

 _Before Thomas left the room, he informed me sternly and in front of Lord Grantham, no less, that I was learning to swim that summer. I argued that I was too old to learn and that swimming wouldn't have saved me when my foot was caught. I had always thought of myself as having the upper hand in my friendship with Thomas, but the tables had turned. Thomas would hear none of my excuses. I was learning to swim, and there was to be no discussion. Lord Grantham was amused by our exchange and quipped, "Pooh's told you what's what!"_

 _You and I both know that our boy is too sensitive. He can handle a crises as well as any man, better than most, but can fall to pieces afterward. Minnie, who serves in the dining room, told me that Lord Grantham toasted Thomas at dinner and that the entire family, down to the old Dowager herself, pounded the table in honour of his bravery. She reported that Thomas turned pale but remained gracious. At our own dinner in the servants' hall, the staff applauded, but Thomas politely asked that we not make so much of it. I was relieved to see him eat his dinner, as he tends to lose his appetite when he's out of sorts._

 _When my little family was ready to leave for the night, Anna marched us into the pantry where she informed Thomas that he was not to work late but to come home with us. If I had extended the invitation, he would have debated the point with me for an hour, and I would have lost. But our boy won't argue with Anna when she speaks to him in that maternal tone women know how to summon. The three of us walked to the cottage, and Thomas carried my sleeping toddlekins._

 _Anna had assigned Thomas a cupboard shelf at the cottage on which to store bedding and pyjamas. Once or twice a month, when he finds it unbearable to be alone, we discover him in the morning asleep on our sofa. If the cottage were larger, we would have him live with us. Tonight, Anna paid him special attention and made hot chocolate to help him sleep._

 _I was exhausted and had fallen asleep soon after we arrived but was awakened an hour ago by Anna's flailing about. She tosses and turns when she's pregnant. A husband likes to say these things, "My wife tosses and turns when she's pregnant." It makes us feel as though we understand something about pregnancy when, in truth, we haven't the slightest notion. Anyway, I was chilled and decided I wanted some tea. Yes, tea and I have come to terms. After all, it wasn't the tea's fault that I had almost drowned, or so the tea claims._

 _When I lit the lamp in the parlour, I discovered Thomas huddled in a corner of the sofa, wide awake. I knew better than to ask what was wrong. I made the tea and offered him a cup. As we drank, Thomas began to ramble that he had almost lost me that morning and couldn't bear the thought of it; that he didn't want us to come to the States with him because he would be consumed with fear for our well-being; that he wanted to live a solitary life. (The things we say in the wee hours.)_

 _I asked Thomas if he intended to live the rest of his life as a hermit. Then our boy began to cry. He told me that when he had jumped in the water that morning, he knew he had only a few minutes before the cold water would immobilise him. What if he had failed? I pointed out that I was sitting with him now because he had succeeded. I promised him that, as long as I lived, I would never forget the risk he had taken for my sake. My promise didn't seem to bring him comfort. He confessed his fear that he would be a failure in the States. He could bear the consequences for himself but not for Anna and me. So that was the heart of it. He was terrified of leading my little family into ruin._

 _I reminded Thomas that Anna and I want better opportunities for our children and that we had carefully considered our options. We expect to experience failures in the course of our American adventure, but we want to share the risk with him and help each other. Before Thomas could respond, Anna opened the bedroom door. The baby had started to kick. She placed my hand on her belly so I could feel, and after a few moments, there it was. The solid kick of a future footballer._

 _You know what babies are to Thomas. Anna asked him if he wanted to feel, but he replied that he had better not. I knew he was concerned that I wouldn't like it. I told him that if Anna said it was all right, then it was. He tentatively offered his hand, and Anna placed it on her belly. You should have seen the look in our boy's eyes when the baby kicked - a look of wonderment._

 _Then Thomas did something that shocked me. He placed his cheek where his hand had been. I was about to pull him away when he began talking to the baby. He spoke about Timothy and Anna and me and how Timothy called him Pooh and how he didn't like that and how we were all moving to the States. Anna became excited. She told me that the baby was answering Thomas with little kicks. The baby and Thomas were having a conversation. Thomas raised his head and declared that the baby was a girl. I asked him how he knew, and he solemnly replied, "Because she was flirting with me."_

 _You've been patient with my babble. Writing this letter has helped me sort out all that has happened, and it comes down to this: Our boy is a modest hero, I'm learning to swim this summer, my new baby is a flirtatious female footballer, and we're all moving to the States. I only hope that Thomas doesn't expect me to swim the Atlantic to save the fare._

 _I apologise for my flippancy. I'm overcome._

 _Your friend as always,_

 _JB_


	56. Playing House

**CHAPTER 57: PLAYING HOUSE**

 **mid-April**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Minnie thought Mrs Patmore would never finish and head upstairs for the night. Now she and Thomas were the only two downstairs. She overheard Thomas cursing through the pantry door. _He must be working on the books._ Minnie felt giddy as she anticipated her conversation with Thomas. She reminded herself that she was thirty-one now, and this was serious business. When she knocked, Thomas grunted, so she opened the door.

"Minnie! I thought you were John. Why are you here so late? Won't your family be worried?"

Minnie shut the door behind her. "I told them I might be late tonight."

"Why's that?"

"I wanted to speak to you alone."

"Is anything wrong?"

"Only that you won't put down your papers and look at me."

Thomas laughed. He set down his pencil and turned his chair towards Minnie. "What can I do for you, Dimples?"

Minnie hesitated only long enough to choose between running and forging ahead. She made her choice, strode confidently to Thomas, and leaned against the desk. "I have a proposition to put to you, Mr Barrow. Are you prepared for a rational discussion?"

"I always try to be rational, Dimples. I don't always succeed. Is this a business proposition?"

"No, it's personal, Mr Barrow."

"I see. You're not going to make me guess are you?"

"No." Minnie took a deep breath so she could get all of it out at once. "We should get married and have a large family, or at least as large a family as I can give us before I'm too old."

Thomas frowned. So Bates had been right about spending too much time with Minnie. "You know I'm not attracted to women, Minnie, and you know I can't change."

"I know what you can't do, Mr Barrow. I also know what you can do. You can marry, and you can have children. Men like you do it every day."

Thomas took Minnie's hand. "I'm going to surprise you now, Minnie. I've thought about it."

"Have you?"

"But it wouldn't be fair to you, Minnie. You deserve more."

"Mr Barrow, it's not about what I deserve. It's about a chance to have a family before I'm too old with a man who would love our children as much as I do."

"We'd have lovely children, wouldn't we, Minnie?"

"I think so."

Thomas gazed at Minnie. Then he patted his lap. "Sit here, Dimples."

"I'm too heavy for you."

"Don't be silly. Come here." Minnie sat on Thomas' lap, and he put his arms around her waist. "Tell me how it would be."

Minnie rested her head against Thomas' chest. "On a cold night, you would light a fire, and we would sit like this and read to each other. On Sundays, John and Anna would visit us, and our children would play together. Anna and I would cook, and you and John would fix whatever needed fixing."

Thomas laughed. "I hope you can cook better than John can fix!"

"I happen to be an excellent cook!"

"Minnie, we're playing house ... like children. But we aren't children."

"No, we're not children. Children can't make it happen. We can."

Thomas reached up and wrapped one of Minnie's untamed curls around his finger. "What's that scent you're wearing?"

"Do you like it?" Thomas nodded, and Minnie laughed. "It's vanilla."

Thomas chuckled. "My wife smells like a bakery. That's how she won my heart."

"Your wife, Mr Barrow?"

"Don't you think it's time you called me Thomas?"


	57. The Alternative

**CHAPTER 57: THE ALTERNATIVE**

 **The next day**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Downstairs, the Abbey was reverberating with excitement. Novello had revived _The Rat_ in London, and now he was traveling with the touring company. The Abbey staff would be leaving in a few hours to attend a matinee performance in Leeds. Thomas had picked a date the family could not dispute. Lord Grantham would be lunching with his gentlemen's camera club, Lady Grantham would be meeting with the hospital board, and Lady Mary and Henry would be in London visiting Henry's parents.

Thomas was getting a head start on the following week's schedule when Bates knocked and opened the pantry door. "Mrs Hughes said you wanted to see me. What's wrong, Mr Barrow?"

Thomas chuckled. "Nothing's wrong, Mr Bates. Have a seat." Thomas stepped around his desk and closed the door. "Are you excited about the show, John?"

Bates took a seat across from the desk. "Very, and Anna couldn't talk about anything else last night. Why did you want to see me, Pooh?"

Thomas smiled as he leaned against the desk. He liked it when Bates called him Pooh. To Thomas' ear, little brother sounded playful, but Pooh sounded downright affectionate. Bates may as well have said, _my darling boy_. Thomas was reluctant to open a topic that he knew Bates was going to find objectionable, but he had to move forward. He spoke simply. "I'm getting married, John." Bates looked at Thomas blankly. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"What's the joke?"

"It's no joke, John. I'm going to marry Minnie."

"I don't understand."

"What is there to understand? Minnie and I are getting married. I'm going to have a wife and children, John, the same as you."

Bates' face clouded. "May I return to work now?"

"John, aren't you going to congratulate me?"

Bates pushed himself up from his seat. "Congratulate you! For what? For planning something outrageous? Thomas, do you truly intend to marry that poor woman and live a lie?"

Thomas answered softly, "John, I haven't lied, and you know it."

Bates struggled to contain his temper. "From where do you intend to acquire the children?" he demanded.

"John, why are you being so cruel? Don't you believe I'm entitled to my own family?"

Bates could see the hurt in Thomas' eyes. He moved next to Thomas and leaned against the desk, too. "I'm sorry, Pooh. I don't understand what you're telling me. Tell me again."

Thomas tried to sound sensible. "Minnie and I want the same things. Companionship ... children ... a family. Minnie has been looking for a husband since the end of the war. She feels she's too old now to attract a husband ... at least, one who would provide for her and love the children he fathers. She's ready for an alternative."

"And you're the alternative?"

"Yes. So she's asked me to marry her."

"She asked you?"

"That's right."

"Little brother, have you ever even had sex with a woman?"

Thomas shrugged. "No, but I can do it. Why not? Men have been having sex with women since the beginning of time. Why can't I?"

Bates put an arm around Thomas' shoulders. "Pooh, have I ever told you how much I love to watch you dance?"

"What? Why are you tell me this?"

"Have I ever told you how much watching you and Minnie dance makes me yearn to dance with my wife? It doesn't matter how much I want it, though, does it? I suppose I could stumble about with Old Ram and Anna, but I wouldn't derive the pleasure you derive from dancing. If anything, I would feel worse."

"Are you saying that wanting to dance is the same as wanting a family?"

"I'm saying that you and Minnie can't live in a fairy story no matter how much you want it. You're going to be hurt."

Thomas stared at his shoes. "Hurt? How do you think I feel when I'm with your family, always on the edge?"

"But you're not on the edge! How can you say that?"

"John, please don't misunderstand me. Your cottage is the closing thing I've had to a home since I was a boy. I cherish my time with you and Anna and Timothy. I couldn't love Timothy more if he were my own son. But I don't want to be a bachelor uncle for the rest of my life, and Minnie doesn't want to be a spinster aunt. Can't you understand that?"

"Of course I can, little brother."

"There! How is my marrying Minnie different from your calling me little brother? I'm not really your brother."

"It is different, Pooh. I truly love you as a brother. You don't truly love Minnie as a man loves his wife."

"You're not being fair, John. You're not trying to see it from my point of view."

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I can't see it from your point of view. I don't want to fight with you, Pooh. About business, yes, but not about this."

"I don't want to fight with you either, John. I've ruined our afternoon."

"No you haven't, Pooh. We'll have a great time. Only promise me that you won't do anything rash. You weren't planning to elope tonight, were you?"

"No, John. We're not sixteen."

"Promise me that you'll take some time to consider what you're doing.

"We plan to marry in June so we both have time to consider. We're not foolish. We're not announcing it yet. I told Minnie I wanted to discuss it with you, and she understood."

"I'm sorry, Pooh. I've behaved badly. I only want you to be happy. You know that, don't you?"

"I know, John."

Bates gave Thomas' shoulders a squeeze and let him go. "May I use the phone for a few minutes, Pooh?"

"Certainly, John. Take your time. Lord Grantham wants to speak to me in the library before he leaves for his luncheon."

Bates waited until he heard Thomas' footsteps fade down the corridor before picking up the phone. "Operator, please connect me with the Theatre Royal in Leeds."


	58. The Labours of Hercules

**CHAPTER 58: THE LABOURS OF HERCULES**

 **Tuesday, April 12**

 **Outside the Theatre Royal, Leeds**

Bates stood on the sidelines with Thomas as they watched Novello charm the other members of the staff. Novello had left a message at the box office asking the staff to please wait after the show until he had met his fans and signed autographs. He wanted to give the staff the attention they were due for travelling all the way from Downton to see his _little show_.

Bates admired Novello's indefatigable ability to make people happy. Novello engaged each member of the staff in conversation and remembered the names of those he had met at last autumn's dance. He greeted Anna and Minnie with kisses on both cheeks and called Anna, _the little mother_. At the present moment, he was speaking to Carson and Mrs Hughes, and Carson was chatting as though they were old friends.

"Ivor can speak to anyone," Thomas declared. "You have that, John. I have ideas, but I need you to sell them."

Bates was surprised. "I wouldn't have much to sell without ..."

"Look!" interrupted Thomas. He nodded towards Carson, who was singing some music hall ditty, to Novello's utter delight, complete with gestures he must have performed hundreds of times.

Bates chuckled. "Well, that's out of the bag."

"What?"

"Mr Carson had a career on the stage before we knew him."

"You're kidding!"

Bates shook his head. "It was his dark secret." Novello gestured to them. "Look. Ivor's ready for us."

Bates and Thomas made their way through the crowd and shook hands with Novello. "Mrs Hughes has everything worked out for you," announced Novello.

Thomas was bewildered. "What's that, Mrs Hughes?"

"Mr Morgan will drive you and Mr Bates back to Downton later so you can have a visit with Mr Novello," replied Mrs Hughes.

"But Mr Novello," protested Thomas, "don't you need to rest before your evening performance?"

"I always have tea after the matinee. I'll be disappointed if you and Mr Bates don't join me."

"But what about ...?"

"We wouldn't want to disappoint Mr Novello, would we?" urged Bates. "I'm certain Mrs Hughes will have everything under control at the Abbey."

* * *

 **Ivor Novello's Hotel Room**

Bates sat on a sofa and munched a coronation chicken sandwich while waiting for Novello to direct the conversation.

"What's the latest news, Thomas?" asked Novello as he opened a roast beef sandwich and piled on pickles.

"I'm thinking of tying our next dance to the horse races in Thirsk. They've been gaining in popularity."

"Not business, Thomas. I mean what's happening in your personal life."

"My personal life?" Thomas looked from Novello to Bates. "Oh, I see! Does a confidence mean nothing to you, John? You have no respect for me whatsoever! You think nothing of going behind my back!" he accused.

"Thomas, shut up!" commanded Novello sharply.

Thomas fell silent. He had never heard Novello use that tone before.

"Ivor, please," chided Bates.

"Please nothing!" replied Novello. "It may interest you to know, Thomas, that John hasn't shared your little secret with me. He told me only that you need advice. He said he wasn't free to tell me more than that. He seemed to think I could advise you better than he."

"Of course he did!" retorted Thomas. "John's not queer, so he couldn't possibly understand my problems! Isn't that right John? All queer's are alike, aren't they, John, so Ivor should have all the answers I need!" shouted Thomas.

"I can't answer you, Pooh," replied Bates softly.

"Of course you can't!" spat Thomas.

"I mean, I can't answer without Ivor hearing about ... about the issue ..."

Novello threw down his sandwich and stood. "Enough! Thomas, come here."

"Leave me alone."

"Come here!" commanded Novello.

Thomas snorted, but then he stood and walked sullenly to Novello. Novello slipped his arm around Thomas' waist and led him to the window so that their backs were to Bates. They were whispering, so Bates could hear only bits and pieces of their conversation.

 _Why must you ... makes me so angry ... loves you ... to run my life ... Country Mouse ... Ivor! ... Not in front of John ... I don't need ... I know ... Must I? ..._

Bates smiled to himself. Novello was cajoling Thomas exactly as Bates would cajole Anna when he was trying to get around her. Novello was teasing and nuzzling and tickling and kissing Thomas until Thomas relented. Bates wished he could gain Thomas' cooperation so easily, but he could never do the things Novello did so naturally. Those things would not be natural for him.

Thomas sat on the sofa next to John. "I'm sorry, John. I get so angry ... the way you try to take charge of me. I didn't mean what I said."

Bates patted Thomas' hand. "You meant some of it. I know I shouldn't have gone behind your back, Pooh, but I was desperate. You were making a decision that could affect the rest of your life and ... if you're not going to tell Ivor, then we should continue this discussion at home."

"Thomas, I don't want to pry, but if you tell me, perhaps I can help," offered Novello.

Although he resented Bates' interference, Thomas wanted to hear Novello's opinion. He explained his plan to Novello, who listened quietly while he ate. When Thomas finished, Novello stood and began to pace. "John, may I ask why you thought I could advise Thomas better than you."

"You're an actor. Aren't there homosexual actors who choose to marry women for the sake of their careers? I thought you would know some and could share their experiences."

"Homosexual. My that's a big word," remarked Thomas wryly. "You've been reading."

"That's the scientific word, isn't it? It's not an insult. Am I right?" asked Bates earnestly.

Novello sat down at Bates' other side. "You're sweet to try so hard. Yes, it's the scientific word, but it carries a stigma. Homosexuality implies a mental illness."

"Oh, I didn't know. I used to say Uranian, but Thomas says that's old-fashioned."

Novello put his arm around Bates' shoulders. "Uranian is a lovely word because we invented it to describe ourselves. It's old-fashioned, but then, you're old-fashioned too, and you're a lovely man. Thomas, I hope you appreciate how lovely John is. If you were a different type of man, John, I would show you how lovely I think you are."

"Stop it, Ivor," ordered Thomas irritably. "You're not funny."

"It's all right, Pooh. He's only teasing me."

Novello smiled. "No, I'm not, John." He stood and began to pace again. "Let's return to the topic at hand, shall we? You're correct, John, I've known a variety of _Uranian_ men who have married women, sometimes to protect their careers, sometimes to please their families, sometimes to produce their heirs, and sometimes to find the happiness that has eluded them."

"And did they find happiness?" asked Bates.

"Not usually."

"Then sometimes!" pounced Thomas.

"Yes," replied Novello. "Sometimes. I can't help but suspect that the men who found happiness discovered that they were ..."

"Were what?" demanded Thomas.

"Ambisexual?" suggested Bates.

Novello smiled. "That's right, John. Ambisexual. Tell me, Thomas, do you suspect that you're ambisexual?"

Thomas muttered something.

"What's that?" asked Novello.

Thomas sighed. "I couldn't help but wonder. When Minnie and I talked about marriage, I asked her to sit on my lap. I thought ... perhaps ..."

"You might become aroused?" prompted Bates.

"Did you?" asked Novello.

"No."

"I see." Novello paused to sip some tea.

"It's not as though I were repulsed. I didn't throw her on the floor!"

Novello couldn't help but smile. "That's a relief. Do you want to hear my advice?"

"Yes."

"If you're determined to proceed, then you must complete the following tasks before you marry."

"Tasks?" Thomas frowned. "You make them sound like the Labours of Hercules."

"Shall I continue?"

"Yes."

"Before anything else, you must show Minnie the scars on your wrists and answer any questions she has about them."

"What?" Thomas looked at Bates. "John, do you agree?"

"Yes. She plans to have children with you. She has a right to know your history."

Thomas looked down at his shoes. "All right. Go ahead. What's next?"

"The two of you must make a contract before you marry in which you establish certain conditions and procedures ... are you ready?"

Thomas looked up. "Yes."

"One. You must specify whether or not you will limit sexual relations to the confines of your marriage."

"Of course we will!"

"Have you discussed it with Minnie?"

"No."

"You must discuss each of these points with her and write each of them into the contract when you come to an agreement. Don't be surprised if it takes you weeks to hammer it out. So what if it does? We're talking about the rest of your lives here."

"All right. What else?"

"Two. You must specify exactly what procedures will be followed if, before the first pregnancy occurs, one of you falls in love with someone else."

"Isn't that the sort of thing couples play by ear?"

"That's the sort of thing _ordinary_ couples play by ear. You and Minnie aren't an ordinary couple."

"All right. Go on."

"Three. You must specify exactly what procedures will be followed if, _after_ the first pregnancy occurs, one of you falls in love with someone else. Shall I continue?"

"Yes."

"Four. You must specify exactly what procedures will be followed if Minnie hasn't become pregnant or hasn't been delivered of a child by some certain time that the both of you have established in the contract."

Bates noticed that Thomas was wringing his hands. "Is that everything Thomas must do?"

"Almost. If Thomas and Minnie are able to discuss each of these items and agree on procedures for each, then perhaps they have a chance for success."

"Then what's left?" asked Thomas anxiously.

"You must prove that you're able to have sex with a woman."

"Ivor! What are you saying? demanded Bates.

"I'm saying that Thomas and Minnie must consummate their relationship _before_ the wedding."

Bates was appalled. "We're talking about a flesh and blood woman, Ivor, not some abstract thing. What if she were to become pregnant? It could happen!"

Thomas spoke calmly. "Ivor is right, John. If I'm not able to do it, then no damage has been done, save some embarrassment, and Minnie won't be shamed by divorce. If I'm able to do it, then we'll marry, and if she's pregnant, so much the better."

"You understand, Thomas, that you may take the last step only after you and Minnie have completed the contract and are in complete agreement about every item."

"I can see the sense of it. If Minnie won't agree to work out these details, then ... then she doesn't understand the difficulties of our situation, and we shouldn't marry. But I can make her understand. I know I can."

Novello picked up the dessert tray and brought it to Bates. "I'm sorry, John. I probably didn't give the advice you would have liked."

Bates refused the sweets. "I wanted you to say what you believed, Ivor."

Novello held out the tray to Thomas. "John, if it doesn't work out, they can always divorce."

"No, Ivor! It's not that simple for Thomas."

Thomas refused the tray too. "What do you mean, it's not that simple for me?"

"Never mind, Pooh."

"No, tell me! Are you saying it's simple for Minnie but it's not simple for me? Why would you say that?"

Bates turned to Thomas. "Because, damn it, if your marriage fails, Minnie will be unhappy, but you'll ..."

"What, John? Cut my wrists? That's what you think, isn't it!"

"No! Don't put words in my mouth!"

"What then?"

"You'll stop eating and sleeping, and you'll ... suffer ... you'll ..."

Thomas strode to the door. "I've had enough of this. I'm going to find Morgan. It's time we were headed back." He stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

Novello was alarmed. "John, is there a chance he might make another attempt on his life if this goes badly?"

"I don't think so, but he does everything so intensely. Everything's a matter of life or death with him."

"I think he's been improving."

"He has been improving, but not enough to handle this marriage business. He's pinned all his hopes on it."

"Should I telephone tomorrow and say I've reconsidered and believe it's a mistake?"

"No, Ivor, he'd see right through that. Besides, there's nothing we can do. In his head, he's already pushing a perambulator. I only hope Minnie won't agree to the tasks you've put in their way."

"John, there is a chance they'd be happy."

"And I'd like nothing better than to live in that fairy tale, Ivor."

* * *

 **Ivor's Car**

Bates sat alone in the back seat and listened to Morgan and Thomas chat about cameras. Bates had no interest in camera technology, and Thomas was making a point of excluding him anyway. He decided to take advantage of Thomas' cold shoulder to catch a nap. Thomas was jealous of Bates' ability to nap anytime, anywhere he chose, a skill Bates had perfected as a soldier. He closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, Thomas was shaking him awake. "Are we home already? I only closed my eyes for a moment."

"No, John, we're not home. Sit up. You're on your bad leg, and you know what will happen." Bates pulled himself to a sitting position. At home, Anna would waken Bates if he leaned onto his bad leg while he napped on the sofa. Otherwise, his leg would stiffen painfully, and she would have to massage it.

Thomas climbed into the back seat. "I'll sit next to you so you don't lean."

"Don't be silly, Pooh, go up front with Morgan. I'll sit against the door."

No, I'm bad company today. Morgan's glad to be rid of me. Do you need me to massage your leg? I've seen how Anna does it."

"No, it's not that bad. I'm able to move it about."

Morgan pulled the car back into traffic. "It's getting chilly," Thomas noted and covered Bates' legs with a rug.

"Thank you, little brother."

"Go back to sleep, you old goat."

Bates chuckled. "I knew you couldn't stay angry at me, Pooh."

Thomas only grunted.


	59. Mud Day

**CHAPTER 59: MUD DAY**

 **Late morning, the next day**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

On most days, Bates stopped by Thomas' pantry before lunch to see if there had been any business developments needing his attention. Today, Bates knocked and opened the door to find Thomas cleaning glassware at the sink.

"Close the door and have a seat, Mr Bates, if you can spare a few minutes."

Bates closed the door behind him. "I have nothing that can't wait."

Thomas continued his work. "Are you still meeting Robinson this afternoon?"

"Yes. Do you still insist I take Miss Sybbie?"

Thomas laughed. "Anna told me not to say _insist_. She told me to say _suggest_. I _suggest_ you take Miss Sybbie. Lady Mary's given her permission. I'll help her select a suitable dress right after lunch."

"Perhaps I should take Timothy with me to negotiate the beer?"

"Sybbie's almost seven, John, and the event was her idea. Besides, you old goat, you agreed to it at our last meeting. You're not going to back out now, are you?"

"No. Have the girl ready, and I'll bring her."

"She'll be ready." Thomas set down the glass he'd been drying and paused before picking up another. "There's something else."

"Oh?"

Thomas hesitated. Then he pulled up the other chair and sat close to Bates. "I need to speak to Bonnie John."

Bates was surprised by Thomas' request and his demeanour softened. "He's sitting right here."

"May I speak to you as your little brother?"

"Always, Pooh."

"Remember, yesterday ... I said that I wasn't aroused when Minnie sat on my lap. That was the truth."

"Right."

"I was embarrassed to tell you and Ivor how much I liked holding her on my lap. I liked cuddling with her, John. Do you think I'm ... childish?"

"Certainly not. There are times when Anna and I want nothing more than to cuddle."

"Minnie's so much fun, John, and she's terribly clever. When I take her to our dances, I feel proud to have her on my arm."

"I know, Pooh. You don't have to sell me on Minnie. She's not the issue."

"John ... is sex truly such an important part of marriage?"

Bates bit his lower lip to appear contemplative rather than amused. "It's not sex so much as passion, little brother. I believe that passion is crucial in a marriage."

"John ... Minnie feels passion for me. I mean, she's in love with me."

"What makes you say that?"

"She's told me so. Isn't it enough if one of us feels passion, John?"

"I don't believe it is, little brother. And deep down, you don't believe it either, or you wouldn't be asking me.

"I'm tired of being lonely, John."

"I know, Pooh."

"John, I do love Minnie. Perhaps it's not passion, but I do love her."

"I know."

"John, if we marry ... will you and I still be friends?"

"How can you ask me that?" Thomas shrugged. Bates took Thomas' chin in his hand and could see the distress in his eyes. "Is that what's worrying you?" Thomas shrugged again. "Pooh, you know how I feel about this match, but I'll respect your decision. I make you this promise, Pooh. If, after you complete all of Ivor's tasks, you still decide to wed, then I will embrace your marriage and do whatever I can to help. Are you listening to me?" Thomas nodded and Bates released him.

"You need to put your energies into those tasks, Pooh. They'll force you and Minnie to consider your plans more carefully." Bates slipped his hand inside Thomas' coat and placed it firmly on his chest. It was an unusually intimate gesture for Bates that surprised Thomas and made his heart pound. "You're going to have to dig deep, little brother, and be honest with yourself every step of the way. Can you do that?"

"I can do that. I have you to keep me honest, don't I?"

Bates withdrew his hand from Thomas' coat and patted Thomas' cheek. "I'll try, but you're a contrary devil, little brother. Did you tell Minnie about Ivor's suggestions?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Minnie was shocked that I told Ivor about us. She still thinks of him as a movie star and couldn't understand why he'd be interested or why I'd tell him. I explained that he and I are close and that he's known similar couples. She's a sensible woman, John, and she's agreed to work through all the steps."

Bates hid his disappointment. "That's a good start."

"Ivor said that the first thing was to show Minnie the scars on my wrists."

"That's right."

"I told Minnie I had something to show her. She said, _I knew it, you have six toes, don't you?_ " Bates chuckled. "She caught me off-guard, and when she saw my expression, she thought she had guessed it. She asked, _Is it six toes altogether or all on one foot?_ So you see, John, she's willing to take me even with six toes!"

Bates laughed. "She's a pip!"

"When I showed Minnie the scars, she asked to speak to you about them."

"Me? Why?"

"I told her that you were the one who helped me get back on my feet ... afterwards."

Bates sighed. "I want you to listen to me and hear exactly what I'm saying, little brother."

"I'm listening."

"If I speak to Minnie about your slitting your wrists and she decides not to marry you, no matter what the cause, you'll blame me. You'll resent me, and that will poison our friendship."

"Am I so unreasonable?

"Don't push me between the two of you! Please!"

"Don't be upset, John. I'll leave you out of it. But what do I tell Minnie?"

"Perhaps she could talk to Dr Clarkson. He treated you. He was the one who decided to keep you at the Abbey instead of admitting you to the hospital."

"We'd have to tell him our plans."

"He's a doctor. He knows how to keep a confidence. I've got to get on now, Pooh. His Lordship's waistline is demanding that I do battle with the seam allowance in His Lordship's uniform."

Thomas was deep in thought and nodded vaguely. "A doctor has to keep a confidence," he mused.

* * *

 **After lunch**

 **The Music Room**

Miss Sybbie was having a piano lesson. "I'm here to help Miss Sybbie prepare for her business appointment," Thomas solemnly informed the new governess, Miss Victoria Petty.

Miss Sybbie's chest swelled with pride as she took Thomas' hand. "How do I prepare, Mr Barrow?"

"You must select a dress that is business-like without being ostentatious, Miss Sybbie," replied Thomas.

"Osdelicious?"

"Ostentatious. Say, osten, osten, osten," instructed Thomas, taking a step with each word.

"Osten, osten, osten," repeated Miss Sybbie, stepping with the same rhythm.

"Say, tatious, tatious, tatious."

"Tatious, tatious, tatious."

"Say, osten, tatious, osten, tatious."

"Osten, tatious, osten, tatious."

"Now, say Ostentatious!"

"OSTENTATIOUS! Ostentatious, ostentatious, ostentatious," sang Miss Sybbie as she skipped up the stairs. "What does it mean, Mr Barrow?"

"It means showing off, Miss Sybbie."

"Oh, I don't want to show off. What's business-like, Mr Barrow? Does it mean serious? Do I have to wear black?"

"No, Miss Sybbie, it doesn't mean serious. To be business-like, you must show that you're friendly, but you must show that you believe in your business, too. What's your business, Miss Sybbie?"

"Mud Day!"

"And do you believe in Mud Day, Miss Sybbie?"

"Yes! Mud Day will be the best day there ever was! And I know the perfect dress to wear, Mr Barrow!"

* * *

 **Later that afternoon**

 **Robinson Bros. Jewellers**

The younger Robinson brother was single and had attended the Barrow & Bates Valentine's Dance. He was impressed by the event and gave Bates his card. Now Bates and Miss Sybbie were meeting with the older Robinson brother, who was a family man. Mr Robinson fetched a tall stool for Miss Sybbie so the three could converse more easily.

"You're wearing a lovely frock, Miss Sybbie."

"Thank you, Mr Robinson. The polka dots show that I'm friendly, and the shoulder cape shows that I mean business!"

Mr Robinson laughed. "You certainly dressed with purpose. I understand that you and Mr Bates are here to ask for a trinket to use as a prize."

Miss Sybbie nodded. "Yes, Mr Robinson, for the ugliest girl."

"Excuse me?"

Bates interrupted. "The event is for girls from five to twelve. They will come to the cricket field dressed as boys in old clothes and rags. The prize will be for the most bedraggled-looking girl."

"That's right, Mr Robinson. The most be-raggled," added Miss Sybbie, wanting to get in the last word.

"The cricket field in April? It'll be mighty muddy."

Bates nodded. "We're counting on it, and we'll help it along if need be. We're calling it, Mud Day, and hope to make it an annual event. It's strictly to raise money for the library. We're not taking any profit."

Mr Robinson snorted. "You expect little girls to play cricket in the mud? Certainly you won't be playing, Miss Sybbie."

"I can't wait, Mr Robinson!" contradicted Miss Sybbie. "My cousin, George, has a time every day that he's allowed to play and get dirty because he's a boy, but I always have to be ladylike. It's so boring!" She made a face.

Mr Robinson grew thoughtful. "Mrs Robinson constantly rebukes our little Molly for unladylike behaviour while she allows our three boys to run amok. Perhaps Molly would enjoy a special day to roughhouse. But she doesn't know the first thing about cricket."

"Miss Sybbie doesn't know cricket either. It won't be a proper match with scorekeeping. Mr Barrow and a few other men will clown and teach the girls how to play and spread the mud about. We expect some of the fathers to watch, so we'll have beer for sale. Other refreshments will be included in admission."

"I suppose I could toss a ball with Molly a bit before the big day. I'll ask her to spread the word among her friends. Do you have fliers, Mr Bates?"

"We'll have them Friday."

"Now then, Miss Sybbie, I'll set out some trinkets for you, and you may select the prize."

* * *

 **A short time later**

 **Outside Robinson Bros. Jewellers**

Bates bent down and shook Miss Sybbie's hand. "Nicely done, Miss Sybbie."

"Thank you, Mr Bates. You won't lose the prize, will you?"

"No, it's safe in my inside pocket, Miss Sybbie."

What do we do now, Mr Bates?"

"We should wait for Mr Barrow. He must be delayed at the hospital." Bates did not understand why Thomas had to go the hospital to arrange Minnie's consultation with Dr Clarkson. He could have made the appointment over the phone. And what could be taking so long? "Would you care to accompany me to the candy shop, Miss Sybbie? I promised to buy some toffee for Mrs Bates."

"Toffee is my favourite, Mr Bates!"

Bates made his purchase, and he and Miss Sybbie each took a toffee before he tucked the sack into a pocket. As they left the shop, Miss Sybbie spotted Thomas leaving the hospital. She jumped up and down, shouting, "Here we are, Mr Barrow!" Thomas waved and ran across the road to meet them.

"You were right, Mr Barrow," relented Bates. "Miss Sybbie promoted a pretty piece of jewellery, and Mr Robinson is eager to distribute our fliers."

Thomas knelt and shook Miss Sybbie's hand. "Congratulations, Miss Sybbie! Your first business meeting was a success. I knew you could do it." When Thomas stood, Bates could see that his eyes were red-rimmed. Still, Thomas took Miss Sybbie's hand and chatted merrily about their plans for Mud Day as they strolled to the Abbey. Bates wondered what had upset Thomas at the hospital but knew to hold his tongue.


	60. As It Was Meant To Be

**CHAPTER 60: AS IT WAS MEANT TO BE**

* * *

 _15 April 1927_

 _My Darling Country Mouse,_

 _I have been debating with myself for three days whether or not to write this letter._

 _When you told me of your plans to marry and to be a faithful husband, I must have appeared blasé about the whole thing. I didn't want to be indiscreet in front of John. Never have I asked you what he knows of us and our now-and-then relationship._

 _I take your happiness seriously, my darling boy, and I tried to be the adult I am not and present you with a plan to support your intentions. But for three days, now, my heart has punished me and demands to speak._

 _I understand how much a family means to you, my sweet boy. I do. I remember the look in your eyes when you first told me. But no one knows better than I how passionate a man you are. You could give up more easily those cigarettes that constantly kiss your lips than you could give up your love of men._

 _Perhaps you believe I'm selfish to remind you of our love when I'm not willing to commit to you as you're willing to commit to Minnie. We both know I've had more than my share of men, so perhaps you wonder why I should make a fuss. I'll tell you why. Because the world has offered me only one Thomas Barrow, and I have none to spare._

 _I love you, my darling, and the thought of a future bereft of your affection brings grief to my heart. I beg you to accept who you are and to live your life as it was meant to be._

 _Your Loving City Mouse_


	61. All-Steel, Indestructible No-Fail Heart

**CHAPTER 61: ALL-STEEL, INDESTRUCTIBLE, NO-FAIL HEART**

 **After lunch, Monday**

 **On the Road to Downton Village**

The sun was shining as Thomas and Minnie strolled to the hospital for their appointment with Dr Clarkson. Minnie held Thomas' arm as she felt was her prerogative now. "Thomas ..."

"Yes, Dimples?"

"I've told Anna about us."

"What?"

"You have John. I need a confidante, too. None of my sisters can be trusted with a secret. John already knows, so why not Anna?"

"Did you tell her everything?"

"Yes."

Thomas stopped in his tracks. "About my having to prove myself before we marry?" he asked desperately.

"Yes, all of it."

"Minnie, you didn't!"

"Why are you upset? You told John everything, didn't you?"

"That's different, Minnie. He was there when I spoke with Ivor, and he's ... he's a man. How am I ever going to face Anna now?"

"What does it matter if Anna's a man or a woman? You think there's more of a difference between the sexes than exists, Pooh."

"Don't call me that!"

Minnie dropped Thomas' arm. "But Anna and John call you Pooh."

"No wife of mine is going to call me Pooh!"

"And no husband of mine is going to call me Dimples!"

Thomas and Minnie stood staring at each other. Then Thomas thrust his hands in his pockets and stomped towards the hospital.

"Thomas Barrow, you stop right there." Thomas hesitated. He stopped walking and stood with his back to Minnie. Minnie caught up to Thomas with a slow, dignified gait. "Thomas, look at me."

Thomas turned and grumbled, "We've had a fight, Minnie."

"Yes, we have. Did you believe that we never would?"

Thomas shrugged and muttered, "I thought you liked it when I called you Dimples."

"I like that you want to call me a pet name, but I'm not fond of Dimples. Thomas, why is it all right for John and Anna to call you Pooh but not me?"

"John and Anna treat me like their little brother and call me a childish name. I'm fond of them, so I'm fond of the name. But you're going to be my wife, Minnie, and I don't want to be your little brother! Besides, I want my wife to have a name for me that's hers and no one else's."

Minnie smiled and took Thomas' arm again. "We better get on, or we'll be late for Dr Clarkson." They continued walking, and Minnie noticed how well their strides and tempos matched.

"Minnie, does Anna think less of me?"

"Why would she?"

"You know why. Because I'm planning to _compromise_ you."

Minnie chuckled. "Anna's a bit old-fashioned, but she's not decrepit. She understands the necessity of it. And it's not _your_ plan, Thomas, it's _our_ plan. You're not compromising me when I choose to take the risk."

"Does Anna approve of our marriage?"

"She said that she doesn't have a crystal ball and can't read the future, but she wants us to do what will make us happy."

"Minnie ... what would you like me to call you?"

Minnie laughed. "Missus."

* * *

 **Dr Clarkson's office**

Dr Clarkson looked up from his desk and invited Thomas and Minnie to sit. He did not particularly approve of their plan to marry, but he did not particularly disapprove either. Dr Clarkson knew the Childs family well. Minnie was as robust and exuberant as the rest of her clan, but she was the only one sufficiently civilized to work in a great house. "Mr Barrow, has Miss Childs told you that I brought her into this world?"

Thomas smiled to think of Minnie as a baby. "No, she didn't mention it."

"The old midwife, Mrs Sterling, suspected a problem and sent Minnie's father to fetch me. Minnie was in a breech position. She intended to meet the world on her feet."

Thomas could picture new-born baby Minnie opening the front door and running down the street. He laughed and clasped Minnie's hand.

"I understand you have some questions for me, Miss Childs. What is it you'd like to know?"

"Thomas has told me everything he could about his suicide attempt. He admits that he still has brief episodes of melancholy." Minnie shifted her attention to Thomas. "Thomas, I'm sorry to speak about you as though you weren't here."

Thomas squeezed Minnie's hand. "You're doing fine, Minnie."

Minnie returned her attention to Dr Clarkson. "Thomas says that he recovers from these episodes more easily now because he has strong friendships, which was not the case when he tried to take his life. He's confident that he'll never make another suicide attempt."

Dr Clarkson nodded. "It's unusual for someone to turn around his life as successfully as Mr Barrow. What is it you want to ask me, Miss Childs?"

"Do you agree that Thomas won't make another attempt?"

"I can't guarantee it, Miss Childs. I can't guarantee that you, or even I, would never attempt suicide. Who knows what circumstances the future may bring. But I don't believe it's a likely outcome for anyone in this room."

Minnie smiled. "That's reassuring, Dr Clarkson."

Thomas was pleased. "Thank you for your confidence in me, Dr Clarkson." He turned to Minnie. "Are we done here?"

"Almost, Thomas. Because we're speaking to a doctor, I'd like to ask one more question."

"What is that, Miss Childs?"

"Dr Clarkson, this tendency towards melancholy ... is it hereditary? Can Thomas pass that trait onto our children?"

"Again, Miss Childs, I can't give you a guarantee but only my opinion based on experience."

Thomas let go of Minnie's hand. "What is your opinion, Dr Clarkson?" he asked anxiously.

"Are you aware of any family members who suffered from melancholia, Mr Barrow?"

"Not on my mother's side. My father wasn't a cheerful man, but I wouldn't describe him as depressed. I never knew his family."

"Miss Childs, I'm acquainted with your fiancé's history." Thomas gripped the arms of his chair. "His mother died when he was thirteen, and he endured four years of ... four difficult years before coming to Downton. It would serve no purpose for him to relive those years, so I won't discuss them." Thomas let out his breath. "In addition, Mr Barrow served two years in the trenches as a member of the Medical Corps. Life in the trenches scarred even the most callous of men, and Mr Barrow was ... what age when you were transferred back to Downton?"

"Twenty-one," replied Thomas.

"Twenty-one. Barely a man. My point, Miss Childs, is that I believe Mr Barrows' situation and isolation two years ago as well as his experiences as a boy and as a young man led to his break down. I have no reason to suspect that there was a genetic factor."

Minnie stood and so did Thomas and Dr Clarkson. "Thank you for taking the time to see us, Dr Clarkson. You've been kind and very helpful."

"Not at all, Miss Childs. It was my pleasure."

Thomas did not speak until he and Minnie were alone on the road to Downton. "Well? Have you gone off me?"

"No, Dr Clarkson gave the answers I wanted to hear."

"You mean, you'll still marry me?"

"That's what I mean, Thomas ... but ...?"

Thomas stopped walking. "But what?"

"What did Dr Clarkson mean when he said you had four difficult years?"

Thomas pulled Minnie close and wrapped his arms about her. "Minnie, don't ask me. You heard Dr Clarkson say it would serve no purpose."

"All right. I won't ask." Minnie kissed Thomas' cheek. "Now we have to tackle Ivor's contract."

"Child's play." Minnie laughed and kissed Thomas on the lips. _Don't pull away, don't pull away_ , Thomas reminded himself.

* * *

 **Late that afternoon**

 **Thomas Barrow's pantry**

Bates knocked and opened the pantry door. "You wanted to see me, Mr Barrow?"

Thomas looked up from the account books. "Have a seat, Mr Bates." Thomas waited for Bates to close the door and sit before continuing. "I've been checking your most recent efforts in the account books."

"Did I make an error?"

"It's an interesting thing, John. When I check Minnie's or Anna's entries, I can find them easily by the handwriting."

"That doesn't seem so interesting, Pooh."

"No, it isn't. The interesting part is that I can't find your entries because you copied my handwriting."

"Did I?"

"You know damn well you did. You made quite the expert job of it, too. I can't tell the difference."

"I'm sorry, Pooh. I don't like keeping the books. I get bored. I only did it to amuse myself."

"It's an unusual skill, don't you think?"

"I'm an unusual man. Are you done scolding me?"

"What's the use?"

"None at all, little brother. Now, don't get angry, Pooh, but I ..."

"What did you do now, John? Place an ad in the personals for me? Adopt me a foundling?"

"I thought you were done scolding."

"All right. What did you do?"

"Not much. You need a night off, that's all. I've fixed it for you. Minnie and Andy will serve dinner. Mrs Hughes will stay late. You've been staying late for her often enough."

"She prefers to eat dinner with Mr Carson. I don't like to think of him eating alone."

"I know, Pooh, and Mrs Hughes is happy to repay the favour. You and I can leave as soon as I've dressed Lord Grantham for dinner, and we can have an evening at the cottage. Anna will bring Timothy a little later. Come spend the night with us, Pooh."

"Thank you, John. I'd like that."

 _Who was this agreeable fellow?_ Bates hobbled away before Thomas could change his mind.

* * *

 **That evening**

 **The Path to**  
 **The Bates Cottage**

It was a pleasant evening for walking. Bates nudged Thomas as they neared their favourite bench. "Give me a smoke, Pooh."

Thomas laughed. "How long since your last?"

"January, on my birthday. You remember."

The two men sat and lit up. Bates tipped his hat forward and assumed his usual smoking posture leaning back with legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle and his arms spread along the top of the bench. Thomas gazed at Bates fondly and was amused by the rakish angle of his hat. He wondered if Bates had been a rakish youth.

Bates held up his cigarette. "I know it's bad for me, but god help me, I love it." He took another long drag and released the smoke in perfect rings. As any little brother would, Thomas leaned back on the bench and blew smoke rings, too. "Not bad, Pooh." Bates pulled off Thomas' hat and dropped it on the bench. He mussed Thomas' hair and draped his arm around Thomas' shoulder. Thomas could have sat there contentedly all night.

When Bates was certain he had taken all the pleasure he could from his cigarette, he dropped the butt to the ground and crushed it with his shoe. Thomas knew there was no point in offering him another. Bates pulled a tin of mints from his pocket and popped one of the candies in his mouth. "These are all that stand between me and another smoke."

"John ...?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you think I could talk something over with you without you giving me advice?"

Bates chuckled. "You mean, would I shut up and listen?" Thomas nodded. "I'll do my best."

"Ivor and I have been having a dalliance."

"I guessed as much from the way he mentions you in his letters and the way he spoke to you in his hotel room."

"I told him to stop. He thought he was being discreet."

Bates chuckled. "I suppose that was discreet for him."

Thomas pulled an envelope from his pocket. "Read this."

"It's too dark out here."

"Use my lighter."

Bates retrieved his reading glasses from his coat and pulled the letter from its envelope. Thomas held up the lighter while he read. When he finished reading, he sat in silence for a few moments. Then he put away his glasses and replaced the letter in its envelope. "That's as lovely a letter as I've ever read, Pooh."

"It is, and it isn't, John."

"Oh?"

"He's asking me not to marry for his sake even though he would never commit to more than a _now-and-then relationship_."

"That's not how I read it, little brother."

"How then?"

"I believe he's saying that he knows he has no rights but for your own sake you should be true to the man you are."

"Perhaps ... but it doesn't make any difference."

"No?"

"No! Ivor doesn't understand what I want. Sometimes I wonder if anyone understands."

"We understand, Pooh, but we worry that the sacrifice you're planning to make is too great." Bates stood, stretched his legs, and sat again. "You've set me adrift, Pooh."

"What do you mean?"

"Right and wrong used to be obvious to me."

"And now they're not?"

Bates shook his head and laughed. "You force me to think, and it's exhausting!" Bates mussed Thomas' hair again and plopped the hat back on his head. "Look, here comes my toddlekins."

Thomas looked down the path and saw Timothy holding Anna's hand and jumping up and down. "Unca Pooh! Unca Pooh!"

"John, did he say _Uncle_ Pooh?"

"Anna's been practicing with him all week."

Thomas ran to Timothy and scooped him up. "Here's your Uncle Pooh!" Thomas nodded to Anna and felt himself blush. "So Minnie's told you about us."

"That's right."

"I hope you're not ashamed of me, Anna. I know some of our plans must seem shocking to you, but we want to be certain we're doing the right thing."

"You worry too much."

 _Why were people always saying that to him._ "Then you understand?"

"Yes, sweetheart, I understand."

Thomas could see that Anna was tired. He had tried and failed to force a half-day schedule on her. "Let me ready Timothy for bed, Anna. I know how. I've watched you." Anna laughed. A chore for her was a treat for Thomas.

Thomas prepared Timothy exactly as he had seen Anna do it. Then he read poems from _The Child's Garden of Verses_ , and Timothy was soon asleep. Reluctantly, Thomas set him in his iron crib and closed the privacy curtains.

Bates brought Anna a rug and covered her legs. "I'll make dinner, sweetheart."

"You can cook?" asked Thomas, surprised.

"Certainly I can cook. I was in the kitchen with my Mum when I was a boy, and she got me started. You can cook, can't you Pooh?"

"I can make tea. That's all."

"Honestly? Do you hear that Anna. I can do something Pooh can't do."

Anna laughed. "How is it that you never learned to cook? You do so many things well."

Thomas sat on the sofa next to Anna. "My first attempt didn't go well. When I was four, I tried to bake a cake for my sister's birthday."

"What happened?"

"I was so excited that I woke up before Mum and Dad. I wanted the cake to be a surprise, so I tiptoed into the kitchen in my bare feet. I couldn't reach the bowls or the pans, but I could reach the flour and sugar and eggs and vanilla. I picked a spot on the floor near the oven to mix the cake."

Anna laughed. "Oh no!"

"That's right. I dumped all the ingredients on the floor and mixed it up with my hands. The batter was lumpy, so I jumped on the lumps to smash them. Then I opened the oven and scooped in the batter with my hands. I was so proud of myself. I thought I had done something special. I had to wake up Mum because I didn't know how to heat the oven.

"Oh dear!"

"Yes, she was furious. When she saw the mess and the food I had wasted, she gave me one good swat on the bottom. I've never forgotten it. She had never whipped me before. She didn't believe in it. I was so humiliated that I went back to bed and didn't come out all day. I didn't eat, either, not even when Mum brought me a piece of the cake she had baked after she cleaned up the oven. That's the only time I can remember being angry at her. I forgave her in time for breakfast the next day, but I never tried to cook after that."

Anna patted Thomas' hand. "There's something terribly sad about that story."

Thomas shook his head. "It's silly ... a man my age. I should learn to cook something ... eggs, perhaps. They're easy, aren't they? I'll want to help Minnie when she's pregnant the way John helps you."

"Pooh, how would you like to help me right now?"

"You know you only have to ask."

"My feet are swollen every night, and I'm so fat now."

Thomas grinned. "You want me to take off your shoes?"

"Would you?"

Thomas knelt on the floor and removed Anna's shoes. "I'll rub your feet."

"You don't have to do that, Pooh."

"I know. I want to." Thomas returned to the sofa and set a pillow on his lap. Then he reached down and lifted Anna's feet onto the pillow.

"Anna, your feet are so tiny!"

Anna laughed. "Do you want me to have feet like yours?"

Thomas laughed, too. He began to work her left foot. After a bit, he asked, "How's that?"

"Lovely," Anna responded softly.

Thomas looked up from his task. Anna's eyes were closed, and she was leaning back against the sofa in a euphoric state. S _ome things are the same for men and women_.

* * *

 **Several hours later**

Anna had gone to bed right after dinner, and Thomas and Bates chatted about nothing of importance while they cleaned up the dishes and relaxed. When Bates retired for the night, Thomas made up the sofa and changed into his pyjamas.

Thomas was sleeping comfortably when he was startled by a voice. He opened his eyes to find Dr Clarkson standing over him, wearing his white coat. Thomas was wearing a hospital gown.

"I'm telling you, Mr Barrow, there's nothing that can be done. You're a fragile case and your prognosis is poor. I won't operate. Your heart can't take it."

"My heart?"

"That's right, Mr Barrow, your heart. You may as well close your eyes. You're a dead man."

"What?"

"Close your eyes, man!"

Thomas closed his eyes. Then he realized he could not remember what Dr Clarkson had told him only a moment before. He opened his eyes, but Dr Clarkson was gone, and Bates was standing in his place and wearing his white coat. He was holding one of Anna's kitchen knives.

Bates sat on the edge of the sofa. "Clarkson's a coward. I'll replace your heart."

"What?"

Bates untied Thomas' gown and removed it with one quick pull. "Don't worry. It won't hurt. Close your eyes."

"No! Go away!"

"Too late! I've already made the cut. See, it didn't hurt at all, did it?"

Thomas saw a red slit running down his chest, but he could not feel anything, and there was no blood. "You're right. It didn't hurt."

"See. I told you!" Bates reached his hand inside Thomas' chest and pulled out a small brown ball. "I don't know what the hell this is, so it can't be important." Bates tossed the ball to the side and reached inside again. This time he pulled out a delicate crystal heart. "This is your heart. It's a model for a baby, not for a grown man. It's too fragile. It's slippery too." The heart slipped out of Bates' hand and fell to the floor where it shattered.

"My heart! You broke my heart!"

Bates grinned. "But look what I have here." Bates held up a polished metal heart. "This is the new All-Steel, Indestructible, No-Fail Heart. This is a heart for a man! Let's try it. Close your eyes."

"No!"

"I'm not inserting this heart until you close your eyes. If you don't want a heart ..."

"Fine!" Thomas closed his eyes.

"Open your eyes!" Thomas opened his eyes. Bates was still sitting on the edge of the sofa, but now he was dressed in red silk pyjamas. Bates tapped Thomas' chest, which had healed. "Aren't you pleased? Now all that remains is to activate it. It's not pumping yet."

"How do you do that?" asked Thomas.

"I'll show you." Bates leaned forward and kissed Thomas on the mouth. Then he put his ear to Thomas' chest. "No, that didn't do it. You're a tough case." Bates kissed Thomas more passionately this time, and Thomas felt his heart pound.

"It's working!"

"Of course it's working. I'm an expert. Now we'll rev it up." Bates kissed Thomas' ear and neck and began to move down his chest.

"Stop! It's too much! My heart's going to explode."

Bates lifted his head from Thomas' chest. "Don't be ridiculous. This model's guaranteed not to explode."

"It's going to explode, I tell you."

Bates became indignant. "Who's the doctor here?"

"Dr Clarkson."

Bates stood. "Shall I leave you with a half-functioning heart?"

"No! Please!"

Bates sat again on the edge of the bed. "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Obviously, the red pyjamas are too much for you. I'll have to try something else. Close your eyes!"

Thomas closed his eyes.

"I'm too much man for you. This time you'll have to take charge. It's up to you to rev up your heart. Understand?"

"Yes. Should I open my eyes?"

"Not yet." Thomas thought he could feel Bates moving the sofa cushions. "Right. Remember, it's up to you. Open your eyes."

Thomas opened his eyes. He reached both hands behind Bates' head and brought Bates' lips to his own for an ardent kiss. He felt Bates take hold of his hands and firmly pull them away. "Thomas!"

Thomas froze. Bates never called him Thomas in private these days unless it was to scold.

"You were dreaming, Pooh. I didn't mean to wake you. I can't find my mints. I must have dropped the tin on the sofa." Bates leaned over Thomas and ran his hand behind the cushion. "Here it is. Sorry, Pooh. You'll understand if you ever quit smoking."

"That's all right."

"Who were you kissing? Ivor?" Bates teased and patted Thomas' cheek. "He's a lucky man. You'd better go back to sleep and catch up to the rest of that dream." Bates stood and popped a candy into his mouth.

"You're not angry with me for ...?"

"Angry? I think our friendship can endure one misplaced kiss, Pooh."

Thomas wanted to shout, _It wasn't misplaced!_ Then he saw the bedroom door and was reminded that Anna was sleeping in the next room ... wonderfully fat, pregnant Anna who had called him sweetheart earlier that night. He felt a pang of guilt. "Goodnight, John." He turned towards the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. But he couldn't help thinking about the taste of John's kiss. John always smelled of mint. He tasted minty, too.


	62. Negotiations

**CHAPTER 62: NEGOTIATIONS**

 **The next night**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Thomas and Minnie agreed to stay a bit late each night to negotiate their marriage contract. Minnie wanted to be ready for a June wedding, and Thomas was anxious to begin a family.

Minnie knocked and opened the pantry door. "Are you ready for our first session?"

"Has everyone gone for the night?"

"Yes. Mrs Patmore was the last."

Thomas grinned and patted his lap. "Come here, Missus."

Minnie laughed. "Now, Thomas, we're supposed to be serious about this."

"I am serious. I seriously want you to sit on my lap." Minnie obliged, and Thomas brought her to his chest. "You're wearing vanilla again. You're making me hungry." he murmured in her ear.

"Thomas, stop playing," Minnie chided gently. Thomas' warm breath in her ear made her tingle with excitement, but they had work to do. "Are we going to tackle these questions, or not?"

"The first one is a cinch."

"We'll see. I'd like to agree on something before we begin."

"What's that, Missus?"

"I'd like to keep our contract between us, Thomas. It's too personal too share with John and Anna or anyone else."

Thomas shared Minnie's feelings. "Agreed."

"Then I'm ready. Are you?"

"Ready." Thomas flipped open his notebook and found the page. "Here we are. Will we limit our sexual relations to our marriage?"

"No."

Thomas laughed. "Missus, I don't think you understand the question."

"Yes I do. Will we give each other permission to have sex with other people?"

"That's right, and we won't."

"You won't, Thomas, but I will."

"Minnie, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'll be married to the man I love, but you'll need a special friend."

"No, I won't!"

"Thomas, let's be honest."

"I am being honest."

"Listen to me, darling. I don't want to be happy in marriage only to have a husband who's miserable. Don't misunderstand me. When I say a special friend, I mean a man, never a woman, and I mean one man, not a horde. And I don't want to know who he is."

"I thought you had faith in me, Minnie."

"I do have faith in you, Thomas. I believe that, if you promise to be faithful to me, then you'll keep that promise. You may be happy at first, but soon you'll resent me, and eventually you'll despise me. Is that what you want?"

Thomas fell silent.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Thomas."

Thomas gazed at Minnie's large brown eyes. "I'd have to allow you the same, Minnie. I'd have to say, _We're married now, Minnie, so go find yourself a handsome playmate_. _I don't mind._ I would mind! The thought of another man being intimate with my wife ... I wouldn't be able to bear it. I won't be a cuckold, Minnie! And what about the children? How would I know they were mine?"

"Thomas, this marriage won't be fair from the beginning. I'm getting everything I need, but you're not. You're the one who's allowed a special friend, not me."

"But, Minnie, won't you be jealous?"

"I demand to be the only woman in your life, and that's enough for me. I do expect you to be discreet."

Thomas was shocked. He had thought this was going to be easy. He didn't know why he was finding it difficult to agree to Minnie's terms. Wasn't she offering him the perfect situation? He laughed at himself. _I'm such a child. I want the fairy tale, and husbands don't have special friends in fairy tales._ Thomas hadn't realized that Minnie was such a realist. Perhaps a realist was the kind of wife he needed.


	63. Not All Picnics and Kite Flying

**CHAPTER 63: NOT ALL PICNICS AND KITE FLYING**

 **Two days later**

 **The Abbey Grounds**

Miss Sybbie scratched Tiaa's head as they strolled up the path with Thomas. "Mr Barrow, if we're going to talk business, then shouldn't I wear my business dress?"

"Not today, Miss Sybbie. It's only the two of us. Why don't we sit on the bench there." Miss Sybbie and the dog ran ahead, and Thomas caught up quickly with his long stride. "I hear you've been working on your costume for Mud Day."

"And Daddy allows me to practice cricket with George. Miss Petty doesn't like that."

"No, I suppose she wouldn't."

"Yesterday, I hit the ball after a bounce, Mr Barrow!"

"That's fine, Miss Sybbie. I hope the village girls are as excited as you are."

"They must be! Costumes and prizes and jumping in the mud ... and no boys to spoil it!"

Thomas laughed. "I'll be there."

"You're not a boy, Mr Barrow. You're big."

"That does make a difference, I suppose. Shall we get down to business?"

"I'm ready."

"Miss Sybbie, how would you feel if you were playing a game for prizes, but you believed the game was rigged?"

"Rigged? What does that mean, Mr Barrow?"

"It means that the winners had been selected beforehand."

"Then I wouldn't want to play!"

"And why is that?"

"Because it wouldn't be fair, Mr Barrow."

"That's what we need to discuss, Miss Sybbie. You live in the finest house in Downton. Mr and Mrs Bates and I work for your family, and we're hosting Mud Day. If you win a prize, the other girls may think it was rigged for you to win."

Miss Sybbie's eyes quickly filled with tears. "Mr Barrow, does that mean I'm not to play?"

"Of course you're to play, Miss Sybbie, and you're to wear a costume, but it would be better if you didn't win a prize. At least, not on the very first Mud Day."

"You mean ... so the other girls won't think I'm a cheater?"

"That's right, Miss Sybbie. Unless you win a race. No one will think you cheated if you win a race."

"Then I'll run my fastest."

"Good. You may not want to mention our talk to the other girls. It may make them feel sad for you."

"I don't want anyone to feel sad on Mud Day."

"I'm glad to hear it, Miss Sybbie. We're counting on you to make the other girls feel welcome and help them join the fun."

"I can't wait, Mr Barrow!"

"Neither can I, Miss Sybbie."

"Are we done talking business, now?"

"Yes, but I have something for you." Thomas pulled a book from his pocket. "You're doing so much for the library, I want you to have this."

"Thank you, Mr Barrow!" Miss Sybbie accepted the book and read the title, " _A Little Princess_. Will you read it to me, Mr Barrow?"

"No, but you may read it to me, Miss Sybbie. I'll help with the big words. Now get on with you before Miss Petty takes me to task for keeping you too long. She scolds in French, and I can't defend myself."

* * *

 _Savoy Hotel  
22 April 1927_

 _My Dear Barrow,_

 _If I've done anything to encourage your efforts on behalf of your village's library, then I'm proud indeed._

 _Now I must change my tone and ask if you've decided to remain a butler. My last recommendation to you was to find and develop one solid, American contact. You mentioned that your employer has an American relative who may be of value, yet you seem to have taken no action in that regard._

 _I understand your desire to obliterate the habits of your younger self whom you say felt no qualms about exploiting relationships. I can tell you only that there is no crime in benefiting from relationships as long as you are above board and you try to benefit others when you're able (much as you're doing now). Don't toss out the baby with the bathwater._

 _Forgive me if you have delayed because of a situation of which I am ignorant. I believe in your abilities and am anxious to see you on your way._

 _Your friend,_

 _Loreto Santarelli_

* * *

 **Tuesday**

 **The Library**

Thomas met with Lord Grantham and Lady Mary as usual after breakfast so he could be made aware of any last-minute plans or guests for the day. Henry and Tom were in attendance as they often were, though they rarely made demands.

"Is everything coming along for Mud Day?" asked Tom. "I've never seen Sybbie so excited."

"Miss Sybbie's not alone, Mr Branson. We've sold more tickets than we anticipated. Some girls are coming from as far as Thirsk."

Lord Grantham looked up from his newspaper. "Will you be able to handle that many? We don't want the Abbey to be associated with a fiasco."

"Papa!" chided Lady Mary.

Thomas took Lord Grantham's reaction in stride. "Several fathers from the village have volunteered to help, my Lord, during the day and afterward to clean up the mud."

"I didn't know you were taking volunteers. I'd like to help," offered Henry.

"So would I," added Tom.

"You're kind to offer, Mr Talbot, Mr Branson. I'll let Mr Carson know."

Lord Grantham chuckled. "Carson? Don't tell me he's getting muddy, too."

"No doubt, my Lord. He's helping the volunteers put together their costumes and showing them how to keep the girls entertained. He seems to be in his element."

Lord Grantham stood. "Is everyone to be a part of this but me, Barrow?"

"I didn't want to presume, my Lord."

"Presume away, Barrow. Is there something left for me to do?"

"I thought you might take photographs, my Lord. Perhaps the paper would publish one."

Lord Grantham brightened. "Why didn't you say so, Barrow? I'll go to Ripon right now for film. There's a knowledgeable fellow at the shop there I can ask about taking action shots."

Henry took the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. "Tom and I better get on, too. I'll see you later, Mary."

"I beg your pardon, Mr Talbot. I was hoping to speak to you and Mr Branson."

Henry was surprised. "Oh?"

"I saw your newspaper advertisement for car mechanics."

Tom laughed. "Don't tell me you want to apply, Barrow."

Thomas smiled politely. "No, Mr Branson, but I was wondering if you would consider hiring an apprentice mechanic as well."

"We hadn't discussed it," replied Henry. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Our hall boy, Billy. It's time he became a footman, but frankly, he doesn't have the social finesse for it, and I don't believe he ever will. I hate to let him go with no options. I know his parents count on his wages, small as they are. He's a hard worker, Mr Talbot, and I believe he has a talent for mechanics. He's the only member of the staff besides myself who I trust to work on the clocks."

"It's kind of you to consider the boy's future, Barrow. Mr Branson and I will talk it over and let you know."

"He's in the foyer now waiting for my instructions, Mr Talbot. Perhaps you could take him with you on some pretext and see what you think of him."

Lady Mary raised an eyebrow. "I think you've been out-maneuvered, darling."

Tom laughed. "It can't hurt, Henry. Let's go."

As soon as Tom and Henry left, Lady Mary turned her attention to Thomas. "I suspect I'm not getting off Scot-free this morning."

"I beg Your Ladyship's pardon, but I do have a favour to ask."

"You may ask, Barrow, but I have no intention of playing in the mud this Saturday. I'm willing to dispense beer, and that's all."

"That's a sight I look forward to witnessing, milady, but I wasn't going to ask you about Mud Day."

"No? What then?"

Thomas pulled an envelope from his pocket. "I've written a letter to Mr Levinson about a possible business venture."

"My uncle? I'm intrigued, Barrow, but I don't see how it involves me."

"Mr Levinson doesn't know me from Adam, milady."

"You want a letter of introduction, is that it?"

"Yes, milady."

"Do you expect to read it before I send it?"

"I don't know what's usual, milady, but no, I wasn't expecting to read it."

"Am I to know what this proposed venture is, Barrow?"

"I'd rather not say, milady. At least, not until it's ... tangible."

"I see." Lady Mary stood and walked to the window. "You're leaving us, aren't you Barrow? I thought you loved Downton."

"I do love Downton, milady, but we've discussed this before. I don't want to be caught snoozing when you're forced to send me packing."

"You're certain it will come to that?"

"You succeed where other estate agents fail, milady, because you face reality head on. I must do the same. I promise not to leave you in the lurch."

"Fair enough, Barrow. Give me the letter."

* * *

 **Saturday**

 **The Robinson Car**

Molly Robinson sat in the car between her parents. Mum had wrapped her hair in a towel, and her muddy clothes had been stuffed in a sack. She clung tightly to the string of the bakery box on her lap. The box held the glorious cake she had won for being the fastest runner at Mud Day, faster even than the older girls. Molly had never felt so excited and so exhausted at the same time. She was certain that this had been the best day of her life.

Molly had been jealous when, after the costume parade, the older girls were the first to remove their shoes and play in the mud field. But she forgot her jealousy when she sat with the younger girls at the cricket field and saw the men who were demonstrating the game. They had painted the ends of their noses red and wore silly moustaches or beards or wigs, and their clothes were all wrong. One man wore hip boots for fishing and one of the batsman carried an umbrella instead of a bat. Suddenly a horn sounded, and two men dressed as American cowboys ran onto the field carrying camp chairs and a small table with a tea service. The two men shouted, "Tea time!" and set up their table right on the pitch so that the bowler and batsman had to play around them.

A tall man with a crushed silk hat and a long straw moustache explained the rules of the game. The players clowned, and the tall man begged for a player who could hit the ball. Immediately a woman with dark curly hair and large round eyes strutted onto the field. She wore a faded gown, the kind Molly had seen in old photographs. The woman stepped confidently to the crease. The bowler delivered the ball, and the woman hit it over the boundary. Then she swung the bat over her shoulder and paraded off the field to enthusiastic cheers from the girls and their parents watching from the picnic area.

Now it was Molly's turn to play in the mud! She removed her shoes and waved to her parents. She was glad that her brothers were old enough to be left at home for the day. She looked back at the cricket field and saw that a skinny man in a fez was explaining the game to the older girls, who had hosed and dried their feet and put on their shoes. Molly turned her attention to the tall man, who was allowing the younger girls to have their fill of jumping and rolling in the mud before he taught them how to bowl with straight arms.

The tall man announced they would have practice races in the mud followed by true races on the grass. The mud was slippery, which made the practice races hilarious, but Molly and the other girls grew serious when it was time to race for prizes.

Molly had never raced, but she adored running and intended to make the most of this rare opportunity. First, the tall man had them race by age and selected the three fastest girls from each group, who would receive ribbons and race again. No one was more surprised than Molly to discover that she was the fastest 6-year-old. She won a bright red ribbon. She wondered if Mum would allow her to wear the ribbon to school or church. _No, the other girls may think I'm showing off._

Soon it was time for the winners to race again. The tall man shouted, "Ready ... steady ... go!" Molly ran gleefully as the girls cheered. She turned for the run back and realized she was in the lead. She ran straight to the tall man. "The winner!" he proclaimed. Molly turned back to the other runners and jumped and cheered until everyone was across the line.

The tall man sent Molly's group to hose and dry their feet and find their families for lunch. One of the other young girls approached Molly as she was putting on her shoes. "My name's Sybbie. What's yours?"

"Molly."

"I never saw anyone run as fast as you, Molly. I came in sixth. Will you have lunch with me?"

"If you'll eat with me and my parents," replied Molly.

Molly sat with her parents and Sybbie and ate delicate sandwiches with no crusts. The woman who had batted the ball was playing a ukulele and singing. Most people knew the words and sang too. The tall man was visiting each family as they ate and sang. He greeted Sybbie and introduced himself. Then he sat on the grass next to Molly. "What's your name?"

"Molly." Molly liked the tall man. He had pretty blue eyes and a toothy smile. She thought it was odd that he called her new friend, _Miss Sybbie_ , even though she was a little girl.

"You have all the makings of a fine athlete, Molly. Would you like to try racing against the older girls after you've played some cricket?"

"Yes!"

The tall man laughed. "Good. I'll tell you when it's time." Then he leaned close to Molly's ear and whispered so only she could hear, "Someday I hope to have a little girl just like you."

* * *

 **Sunday**

 **The Bates Cottage**

"John, it's ridiculous that you don't have electricity or a decent bathroom. You had better living conditions in the attic than you have here. I'm going to speak to Lady Mary about it," insisted Thomas.

"That's for Anna and me to decide, and I say no," responded Bates. "Now let me have a look at your shoulders."

"That's for me to decide, and I say no," countered Thomas.

"Are they always like this?" Minnie asked Anna.

Anna sighed. "Often enough, and I'm not in the mood for it." She turned to Thomas. "John's afraid that if Lady Mary makes improvements to the cottage then she'll ask us to pay rent. Now, what's wrong with your shoulders?"

"Look at how he's standing," interrupted Bates. "You can see what's wrong. He overworked his shoulders yesterday teaching the girls to bowl, and now he's in pain and won't admit it. If he would take off his coat, I could ease the tightness with a little massage."

"Stop bullying me, John!"

"And now I'm a bully!"

Anna picked up her rolling pin and slammed it on the table. "STOP IT!" Thomas, Bates, and Minnie jumped and stood agape. "What do you see when you look at me. DON'T ANSWER! I'll tell you what you see. You see a very tired, very pregnant woman, who has misplaced her sense of humour among all the trivial arguments she's been forced to hear."

"Anna, I'm ...," began Bates.

Anna slammed down the rolling pin again. "I'M SPEAKING! Now then, Minnie has prepared a lovely dinner to show Thomas what sort of cook she is. If you two continue to behave like children, you may march yourselves to the Abbey and eat with Timothy and Nanny in the nursery. I intend to enjoy Minnie's dinner. It smells delicious, Minnie."

Minnie stood blinking, not knowing what to do.

Thomas pulled out Anna's chair at the table. "Would you like to sit, Anna. I'll help Minnie."

Anna sank into the chair. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Thomas stood behind Anna and patted her shoulder while he made a face at Bates.

Bates looked down and tried not to smile. Anna gazed at Bates, whose every thought she knew at a glance. "Did he stick out his tongue?"

"No, he only made a face. He's a child, you know."

"You're both children, and I'm too tired to find it amusing."

Bates pulled up a chair and sat close to Anna. "Remember what Dr Clarkson said, Anna. No two pregnancies are alike. Just because you worked last time until labour began doesn't mean that's the best choice this time." Bates looked to Thomas for reinforcement.

"John's right, Anna. You can still earn wages. Miss Baxter has offered to give you all her mending in exchange for your duties at the Abbey. You could do the mending right here, Anna. Listen to what your body is telling you."

"The way you're listening to what your body is telling you?" retorted Anna.

"All right! So I overdid it yesterday! If I let John look at my shoulders, will you let me alter your duties until after the baby is born?"

Anna closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "All right, Pooh. I surrender."

"Good." Thomas removed his coat and draped it neatly over a chair.

"Better take off your waistcoat, too," advised John.

"Fine." Thomas draped his waistcoat over his coat and sat in the chair.

Bates reached around and unfastened the top button of Thomas' shirt. He bent down to Thomas ear and whispered, "Thank you, Pooh, for getting her to agree." Thomas nodded.

Bates asked Thomas to point to the areas that were painful, and Thomas complied. Bates placed his hands at the base of Thomas' neck.

"That hurts!"

"I haven't done anything yet. What a baby!"

"Just don't break anything, you old goat. Everything needs to be in working order when I get married."

Bates tapped the top of Thomas' head. "We all might be better off if this wasn't working so well," he teased. "Let your arms go, Pooh. Drop them at your sides."

"You'll have to cut the strings first, Geppetto."

Anna opened her eyes. "This is fair warning that the next thing I hit with the rolling pin won't be the table."

Bates and Thomas held their tongues, and Bates massaged Thomas' neck and shoulders. He wondered if he should disclose his idea for their next dance. It would be the first time he had created a theme himself. "I have an idea for a dance at the end of June."

Thomas and Anna were silent, so Bates continued. "Everyone's talking about the solar eclipse on the 29th. The eclipse will be early in the morning, so I thought we could have an all-night dance on the 28th. The band could play songs with moon or sun in the title, and we could serve breakfast before the sun rises. I have an idea for a contest too. We'll give a prize for the best new dance to be called _The Eclipse_."

Anna and Thomas remained silent. Bates was disappointed. "You don't like it?"

"Perhaps you should ask our partner what he thinks," suggested Anna, a faint smile on her lips.

"All right, Pooh, let me have it." Bates stepped in front of Thomas' chair to hear his critique.

Thomas didn't answer because he was sound asleep.

* * *

 **One week later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Thomas opened the door to his pantry to find his chair turned to the back corner of the room. He knew immediately that Bates was sitting in the chair, napping.

"I'm not napping," came Bates' voice.

"I know. You're only resting your eyes."

Bates stood. "I suppose you want your chair back."

"If it's not too much trouble."

Bates took a seat in front of the desk. "You did ask me to be here at 11:00, didn't you, to select an eclipse band?"

"Yes. I'm sorry I'm late. It was because of Miss Sybbie."

"She's all right, isn't she?"

"She's fine. We've been meeting every morning at 10:00 so she can read me a chapter in her book. Everything was fine yesterday, even though an unpleasant solicitor by the name of Mr Barrow appeared in Chapter 7. Miss Sybbie wanted to know if we were related, and I had to remind her that the people in the story weren't real. But today when she read Chapter 8, she began sobbing. I didn't know what to do."

"Did someone in the story die?"

"Well, yes, in yesterday's chapter, but that wasn't why she was crying. She was crying because the little girl in the story was forced to sleep in a rat-infested attic. She knows I sleep in the attic, so she began to think that my room must be like the room in the story."

"The poor dear. She's such a sweet thing."

"She wouldn't stop crying, and I felt so helpless. I couldn't take her to the attic alone, could I? I had to telephone Mr Branson at the showroom. He gave Mrs Hughes permission to escort us."

"And was Miss Sybbie satisfied?"

"Yes. She thought the little girl in the story would have been very happy in my room."

"Good."

"That's not all, John."

"Why? What happened?"

"She told Mrs Hughes that when she's old enough, she's going to marry me." Bates chuckled. "Then she told me I should start getting the room ready now!"

Bates threw back his head and laughed.

"It's not funny, John. I had to sit her down in front of Mrs Hughes and tell her that by the time she's old enough to marry, I'd be an old man."

"What did she say?"

"She said it didn't matter. I was an old man now!"

Bates laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. "Children have a different idea about age. What did you do?"

"I told her that I couldn't marry her because I was promised to someone else."

"What did she say to that?"

"She started to cry all over again. Then she said she hated me and stomped down the stairs by herself."

"I'm sorry, little brother, but it's time you learned that parenting is not all picnics and kite flying."


	64. Lord Savident's Valet

**CHAPTER 64:** **LORD SAVIDENT'S VALET**

 **A week later**

 **The Servants' Hall**

Bates had dressed Lord Grantham for breakfast and was taking a few minutes to flip through the pages of _You Can't Win_ in the servants' hall. Novello had sent him the American book, an autobiography written by freight-hopping criminal turned librarian, Jack Black. Bates laughed when he found the inscription.

 _My dear friend,_

 _You and I both know there is  
no such person as Jack Black.  
The author of this book must be  
the one and only John Bates._

 _All love,  
Ivor Novello_

Bates felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Thomas standing beside him. Bates could see the anxiety behind Thomas' calm demeanour. Thomas nodded towards his pantry, and Bates grabbed Old Ram and followed him there, closing the door behind them.

"Have a seat, John." Thomas sat next to Bates. "I received a reply from Levinson. This has been my first chance to open it in private." He opened the letter while Bates pulled out his reading glasses, and the two men leaned their heads together to read.

* * *

 _Dear Mr Barrow,_

 _I am in receipt of your letter that was forwarded to me by my niece. While it is true that my mother intends to sell her Newport cottage, I am sorry to say that it would not be a suitable choice for your project. Aside from the property size, which may be insufficient, you would have to appeal the zoning laws, which would be an expensive process and likely to fail._

 _However, I am intrigued by your concept of a combination luxury hotel/butler school based on the English concept of service. You have a feel for what would attract wealthy Americans, especially the new money types. My niece wrote about the side business you and your partners have launched while you continue your work in service. How American of you! (I mean that as a compliment.)_

 _I will be traveling to Europe before Christmas to visit ski resorts, a concept that I would like to develop in the U.S. I will be stopping at Downton first to see the family and would like to meet with you and your partners to discuss your ideas, if that is amenable. Americans believe one can never have too much wealth, and I am always on the prowl for exciting investment opportunities._

 _Respectfully yours,_

 _Harold Levinson_

* * *

Thomas sat back in his chair and grinned. "He's interested! Our first American contact!"

"Congratulations, little brother."

"Congratulations to our partnership, John. Everything we've done, we've done as partners. And the eclipse idea was all yours."

Bates smiled. It was only a week ago that he had shaken Thomas awake and impressed him with his idea. Only then, did Bates feel as though they truly were partners. It was difficult to keep pace with Thomas' fertile mind.

The two men chatted easily about how they might present their ideas to Levinson as Thomas sorted through his other mail. He pulled one envelope from the others and opened it. Bates saw the colour drain from Thomas' face. "What is it, little brother? Bad news?"

"Alfie Reynolds died. He was Lord Savident's valet."

"I'm sorry, Pooh. Was he a friend of yours?"

"He was no friend of mine!" spat Thomas. Bates watched as Thomas' expression transformed from shock to rage. Bates had seen that rage once before, the night he took Thomas drinking. Thomas shoved the letter at Bates and leapt to his feet. He paced furiously, waving a cheque that had been enclosed in the envelope.

Bates bent his head to read the letter. It was a typed letter from a solicitor.

* * *

 _Dear Mr Barrow,_

 _I am sorry to inform you of the death of my client, Alfie Reynolds, on January 19th of this year. I am writing, specifically, because you were mentioned in Mr Reynolds' will. Below is the exact wording that pertains to you._

" _If my fortune survives me, then I bequeath the remaining amount, up to £700, to Mr Thomas Barrow, who, at the time of this writing has taken a position as footman at Downton Abbey in Yorkshire. Mr Barrow knows well that at least half this amount should have been his. I intend to keep the £700 for my old age, but my habits make old age doubtful. If you should read this, Mr Barrow, then I ask one last time what you would have done had you been in my place at the tender age of seventeen."_

 _Mr Reynolds was 38 at the time of his death, and his estate exceeded £700 after deducting his outstanding debts and our expenses on his behalf. After reconciling his affairs, we immediately set out to confirm your continued employment at Downton Abbey. Enclosed you will find a cheque for £700. Please note that endorsing the cheque will constitute acceptance on your part as final settlement of Mr Reynolds' estate._

 _If you wish to read Mr Reynolds' entire will, it is on file in my London office._

 _Yours sincerely,_

* * *

So, Alfie Reynolds had held a key to Thomas' life before Downton, and now he was dead. "£700," murmured Bates.

"Do you doubt my right to it?" demanded Thomas.

"No." Bates replied simply. He had no desire to provoke Thomas.

"It should have been mine from the start!" Thomas held the cheque as though he were going to rip it to shreds. Bates held his breath. Thomas paused, tried to calm himself, and slipped the check into his coat pocket. The he yanked the letter from Bates' hand and retrieved his lighter.

"Thomas, wait!"

Thomas froze as he always did when Bates called him by his given name. "What?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"If you're going to keep the cheque, then you'll need the letter."

"Why?"

"An investor may want to know how a man who's been a butler for less than two years came to have so much cash. The letter is proof that you acquired it legitimately."

Thomas stared at the letter. Then he tucked it back in its envelope and locked it in his desk drawer. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?"

"When does the interrogation begin?"

I'm not going to ask you anything, Pooh. You'll tell me if there's anything you want me to know."

Thomas sat at his desk. "John, I'm sorry for my behaviour."

Bates could see that Thomas' hands were trembling and knew that his rage had not altogether subsided. "It was nothing, Pooh."

Thomas pulled the cheque from his pocket and stared at it. He smiled wanly. "You know what this means, don't you, John? With Levinson's interest in us and this money, we'll be on our way to the states sooner than we thought, and you and Anna will be able to keep your money safe for your children."

"That's kind of you, Pooh, but Anna and I need to contribute our share to the partnership."

"No, John. I can't accept this cheque unless it's for you and Anna, too." Thomas stood and gripped Bates' shoulder tightly. "Please, John. I can't explain."

Bates struggled not to ask why this windfall was so difficult for Thomas to accept. "All right, little brother. Whatever you say. Why don't we go to the cottage together tonight to show Anna the letter from Levinson."

Thomas perked up. "Yes, let's! She'll be so excited."

"I'll tell Mrs Patmore to pack your dinner, too, and you'll stay the night." Bates stood and hooked his arm around Thomas' neck. "But you have to carry the hamper! Mrs Patmore packs so much food for Anna that I can barely manage it and the mending and Timothy, too."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to muss my hair."

Bates laughed. "Not today. Today is a special day. Today, I'm going to do this." He kissed Thomas on the cheek, which made Thomas laugh. "And _now_ I'm going to do this." He mussed Thomas' hair before picking up Old Ram and heading for the door.

"Don't do that!" Thomas protested, but he was still laughing.


	65. Stopes

**Late May**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Thomas and Minnie met at their usual time in the pantry and pulled two chairs together. Thomas held the contract that was the culmination of their gruelling late-night negotiations. Early on, they had agreed to meet only Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to preserve their sanity and their friendship.

Thomas had copied the pages neatly from his notebook and now placed the final document in front of them. The couple took turns reading aloud the terms and conditions. "Are we agreed?" Thomas asked when they finished reading.

"Yes, we're agreed." Minnie signed the last page, and then Thomas signed. They had expected this to be a joyful moment, but Ivor's final task loomed over them.

When the ink was dry, Thomas locked the contract in his desk drawer. Then he sat behind the desk and patted his lap. Minnie was aware that there were two reasons why Thomas might want her on his lap. If he placed her so they were chest-to-chest, then he was in the mood to cuddle. If he placed her so they were back-to-chest, then he was avoiding eye contact. Tonight, he placed her back-to-chest. _Now what?_ she thought to herself.

"Missus, you know what comes next."

"Yes, I know."

"I've been doing some reading, and it's important that we choose the right date."

"What do you mean?"

"According to Stopes ..."

"Thomas, you've been reading Stopes?"

"I don't care for her belief in eugenics, but, Missus, you can't deny that she's an expert when it comes to ... marital relations."

"And Stopes gives advice about selecting a date?"

"She says that a woman's desire differs from a man's in that it comes in waves that crest every fortnight."

Minnie couldn't help but smile. She was a virgin, but Thomas was naïve ... adorably naïve. "Waves?"

"That's right."

"Thomas, are you saying that married men and woman should make love only twice a month?"

"Not exactly. Each crest can last a few days."

"But I've never noticed these waves."

Thomas held Minnie close and spoke gently. "Of course not, Minnie. You're not experienced, so you're not aware."

"Then how am I to know when these crests occur?"

Thomas pressed his hand to one side of Minnie's face and his cheek to the other so she could not turn her head to face him. "One comes two or three days before ... your ... moon month ... and the other eight or nine days after the end ... so they're a fortnight apart. You'll have to pick the proper date, Missus, and tell me."

It took a moment for Minnie to realize what Thomas meant by moon month. She had not expected to discuss something with her fiancé that she avoided discussing even with her own sisters. She glanced at Thomas' calendar. "Right. Then I pick Sunday, May 29th."

"I'll ask Andy and Mrs Hughes to work late that night, and I'll make arrangements for a room."

"And after we're successful, we'll get married."

"Not quite, Missus. Afterwards, I'll ask your father for your hand."

"Thomas, I'm over 30!"

"It's about respect, Missus. I want your father to like me. He's going to be my father-in-law."

"All right. You'll ask my father, and then we'll get married."

"I'll ask your father, and then I'll get down on one knee and propose."

"That's silly, Thomas. We've already agreed."

"I know, Missus." Thomas wrapped one of Minnie's dark curls around his finger. "But I want you to be able to tell our children about the time I got down on one knee and asked you to marry me."

* * *

 **Late morning, the next day**

"I have no ideas for a grand prize. Any thoughts?" asked Bates.

Thomas leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. He tried to focus on the eclipse dance, but all he could think of was Minnie and that damned book.

"Let's move onto something else," suggested Bates.

"John, I need your advice."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, John. I need the kind of advice a man gives his little brother."

"You only have to ask, Pooh. You know that."

Thomas unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out the book. He hesitated for a moment before handing it to Bates.

Bates put on his reading glasses and examined the cover. _Married Love or Love in Marriage_ by Marie Carmichael Stopes. "Stopes!" he exclaimed.

"John, please, not so loud. Stopes is an authority."

"I know who she is." Bates set the book on the desk. "Does this mean you and Minnie have finished your contract?"

"Yes. It took us five weeks, but we finished."

"Congratulations, Pooh. I know it's what you want."

"You still don't approve, do you, John?"

"It's not for me to approve or disapprove, Pooh." Bates noticed a piece of paper sticking out from the book. "What's this?" he asked.

Thomas felt his cheeks burning. "My notes."

Bates pulled the paper from the book and read the phrases Thomas had copied from the book and committed to memory.

* * *

 _the tender fondling with his lips of a woman's breasts is one of the surest ways to make her ready for complete and satisfactory union (p.22)_

 _each act of union must be tenderly wooed for and won (p.46)_

 _when the man tries to enter a woman whom he has not wooed to the point of stimulating her natural physical reactions of preparation, he may thus cause the woman actual pain (p.48) (tumescent)_

 _70 or 80 per cent. of our married women are deprived of the full orgasm through the excessive speed of the husband's reactions (p.51)_

 _woman has at the surface a small vestigial organ called the clitoris, which corresponds morphologically to the man's penis, and which is extremely sensitive to touch (p.51)_

* * *

Thomas stood uncomfortably while Bates read through the notes and flipped through the corresponding pages of the book. Bates set the book on his lap. "This writing isn't what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Honestly ... a book that teaches wives to subvert their husbands' desires. But it's the opposite isn't it?"

"That's right. It teaches husbands how to help their wives enjoy lovemaking."

Bates picked up the book and began to read. Thomas looked at the clock and picked up the key to the wine cellar. "I'll be back in a bit." Bates did not look up. When Thomas returned with wine for the family's lunch, Bates was still reading. "John?"

Bates waved him away without looking up. Thomas shrugged and decanted the wine. When he was done, Bates still had his head buried in the book. "John!"

Bates jumped with surprise. "What?"

"What are you doing, John. You and Anna are happily married. You must know everything in that book."

"Well ... I've never seen it written down quite that way. You have some question about it?"

Thomas sat on the edge of the desk and lowered his voice. "The book says that if I haven't made Minnie ... _tumescent_ , that I could cause her pain. I don't want to hurt her, John."

"I'm glad to hear it. What's your question, little brother?"

"The book doesn't say how."

"How?"

"How to stimulate her natural physical reactions."

Bates did not allow himself to smile. "I doubt it's much different from how you stimulate a man."

Thomas was disappointed. "You're teasing me."

"No, Pooh, I'm not. Think of how you like to be kissed and touched. What excites you? Much of it will be the same for her. And you can ask her what she likes."

"I couldn't do that, John. She's a virgin."

"I realize that, but she's not made of glass. It's all right to ask her for ... help."

"John, I couldn't possibly."

Bates sighed. "Is that your only question?"

Thomas shook his head.

"Well?"

Thomas picked up his notes and pointed. Bates followed his finger to the word, clitoris. Bates looked up at Thomas sympathetically. "Have you never seen a naked woman, little brother?"

"Certainly. No. I mean I've seen paintings and statues, but they don't show anything. And that blasted book doesn't have any pictures."

"You don't need these notes anymore, do you?" asked Bates. Thomas shook his head. Bates flipped over the paper, picked up a pencil, and tried to draw a picture of what Thomas was going to encounter. "You know, Pooh, when brothers have this talk, they're usually much younger than we are. I feel ridiculous." Thomas shrugged. "All right, Pooh. This is the clitoris, and here's where you ... penetrate."

Thomas looked at the drawing and then at Bates. He was mystified. Bates stood and held the drawing against himself so Thomas would understand the placement. Thomas looked at Bates holding the paper to his crotch and began to laugh, which made Bates laugh. The two fell over each other in a fit of hilarity and did not hear the knock at the door.

"What sort of hooley is this?" demanded Mrs Hughes when she entered the room. "Minnie is waiting for the wine."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs Hughes," apologized Bates, clasping the drawing tightly behind his back. "We were discussing ways to enliven our next dance and lost track of the time."

Thomas handed the decanter to Mrs Hughes. "Please tell Minnie that I'll be right there."

"Very well."

As soon as Mrs Hughes closed the door, Bates dropped into his chair. "Good lord!"

"That was a close call!" Thomas locked the book in his desk drawer and checked his hair in the mirror.

"Give me your lighter, Pooh. I'm going to burn this drawing." The two men watched the paper burn. "Are you still coming to dinner tonight?"

"If you and Anna want me, John."

"Of course we want you, Pooh, but I'm going to leave as soon as I dress His Lordship for dinner. I need to speak to Anna privately before we eat. Will you bring the hamper after you serve dinner?"

Thomas smiled. "Right." He suspected that John had questions for Anna after reading the book. _What a sweet man. He wants to be a better husband._ "I'd better run, John. Minnie's waiting."

Bates took hold of Thomas' arm. "Remember, Pooh, Minnie's a woman. She won't break."


	66. Married Love

**CHAPTER 66: MARRIED LOVE**

 **Late morning, the next day**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Bates sat patiently while Thomas paced and scolded him about his bookkeeping. "You're still using your notes and doing everything by rote, John. You're not trying to understand the relationship among the pieces. You don't give a damn!"

"Not about keeping the books."

Thomas perched on the edge of his desk. "It's not about keeping the books, John. We'll hire a bookkeeper when we have our own hotel."

"Then what does it matter if I understand or not?" Bates asked calmly.

"It matters because our bookkeeper could be emptying our pockets, and you wouldn't be any the wiser!"

"Oh."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Oh, I don't like keeping the books."

Thomas held up his hands in surrender. "You win." He retreated to his chair behind the desk. "You'll have to trust Anna and me to guard against pilfering. Does that make you happy?"

"Very."

Thomas returned the books to their cabinet. He picked up a pencil and tapped it a bit. "You and Anna certainly were lovey-dovey last night. You hardly noticed I was there."

Bates frowned. "We didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome, Pooh."

Thomas shrugged. "You didn't. What happened?"

"Thomas! I'm not going to share our love life with you!"

"I would never ask you to do that," Thomas murmured. He flipped open his notebook and searched for his notes on the eclipse dance.

"I'm sorry, Pooh. I didn't mean to bark at you."

Thomas shrugged again. "I only wondered ... you've been married for eight years, and you were acting as though you were newlyweds."

Bates chuckled. "To be honest, it was that book of yours."

" _Married Love_? You're joking."

"I'm serious, Pooh." Bates leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Some of the descriptions in that book hit a bit too close to home. I began to wonder if I were one of those husbands who assumed his wife was content with our ... intimate life simply because she hadn't complained. I had never discussed the subject with Anna. It would have seemed vulgar to me."

"Until yesterday?"

"Until yesterday." Bates pulled out his mints and popped a candy into his mouth. "Anna and I are forced to be abstinent right now because the baby is due in a few weeks. I thought perhaps discussing my concerns from the book could offer us another way to stay connected. Still, Anna's terribly traditional, and I didn't know how she'd react to that sort of discussion."

"You certainly seemed connected when I showed up."

"She surprised me. Once she understood what I was asking, she was touched that I was willing to be embarrassed for her sake. She became ... well, I could see that it meant a great deal to her. More than I would have expected."

Thomas listened attentively. "I want my marriage to be like yours, John."

"Well, it won't be, Pooh. Every man and woman is different, and every marriage is different. But if you're going to do this thing, then I hope you and Minnie will be as happy as Anna and I are. And I hope Minnie can keep books."

"How droll, John."

"I thought so."

"John ...?"

"Yes."

"The night you were married, how was it for Anna?"

"What?"

"I mean ... was she frightened? Did it hurt her?"

Bates sighed. "Little brother, two days ago I would have said no. Now I realize that Anna probably kept her true feelings to herself. It's terrible to think that I may have been a brute that first night. No wonder Anna says men are cavemen."

"I'm not going to be a caveman, John."


	67. David and the Naked Maja

**CHAPTER 67: DAVID AND THE NAKED MAJA**

 **Sunday, May 29**

 **Room 3  
The Grantham Arms**

Minnie looked at her wristlet and checked the time. She knew that Thomas would arrive on the dot and made the wait more bearable by pulling the curtains open and closed, open and closed, trying to decide which made the drab room cheerier.

At exactly 11:00, Minnie heard a soft knock and felt her stomach flutter. She opened the door, and there stood Thomas holding a parcel. He stepped inside quickly, closed the door behind him, and let out his breath. "Hullo, Missus."

"Hullo, Thomas. What's in the package?"

"It's empty. If anyone saw me knocking, I was going to say that I was delivering a package." Thomas set down the parcel and walked about the small room examining what little there was of this and that. "I'm sorry we couldn't go somewhere more romantic. We'll make up for it on our honeymoon."

"That's right."

Thomas turned to Minnie and smiled. "You're especially pretty tonight, Missus. I like your dress."

Minnie was wearing her favourite dress, sleeveless with a dreamy print of roses on a pale blue background, and she was pleased that Thomas liked it too. "Why don't you take off your coat and stay awhile," she joked. She stood awkwardly and waited while Thomas removed his coat and draped it over the only chair in the room. He paused a moment and decided to remove his waistcoat and tie as well.

Thomas turned and stretched out his arms. "Here I am," he proclaimed playfully. For one brief moment, Minnie considered running out the door. Thomas dropped his arms. "Are you nervous, Missus?" Minnie nodded. "That's all right. I am too."

"Are you?"

"Certainly. Shall I put on my waistcoat and tie?"

Minnie laughed. "No, I think I can survive the sight of you in your shirtsleeves."

Thomas sat on the bed. "Come, sit by me." Minnie sat next to Thomas, and he squeezed her hand. "Let's take off our shoes. That's not too daring." Minnie laughed, and they both removed their shoes. Thomas wrapped his arm around Minnie's waist. "Missus ...?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what to expect tonight?"

If any other man had asked her that, Minnie would have felt patronized. But she didn't see arrogance in Thomas' eyes; she saw only concern. She tried to reassure him ... and herself. "My married sisters are terrible wags and try to make me believe all sorts of things, except Sophie. She's the eldest and always tells me the truth. It's not because she's sympathetic. It's because she's a know-all."

"Are you certain you want to do this? It's all right if you've changed your mind. I mean, I'd be disappointed, but I would never ... try to ..."

"I know, Thomas. I'm certain."

"Have you ever seen a naked man?"

"Yes ... well ... I've seen statues and paintings. Michelangelo's David." Thomas laughed. "What's so funny?" Minnie demanded defensively.

Thomas brought his nose to Minnie's. "Because that's the only way I've seen a naked woman. Goya's Naked Maja." Minnie giggled, and Thomas pulled her closer. "I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm afraid I don't look anything like Michelangelo's David."

"Then we should forget the whole thing!" teased Minnie and stood.

"Come here, you." Thomas pulled Minnie onto his lap. "I'd let you go, but I can't resist your dimples."

"Thomas ...?"

"Yes?"

"I do know what's supposed to happen, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You?" Thomas seemed puzzled. "You're not supposed to do anything." He kissed Minnie tenderly on the lips.

"No?"

"No." Thomas kissed Minnie again, a bit more forcefully, and she was surprised that this time his mouth was open. His lips moved across her cheek and down her neck, leaving a trail of exquisite sensations.

 _Oh, we must be starting!_ As Thomas nuzzled her neck, Minnie felt a tingle spread through her extremities. He brought his mouth to her ear and told her how much he loved her untamed curls. His warm breath melted any lingering uncertainty she may have had. He lifted his head as if to ask, _Do you like this?_ She slipped her fingers into his thick hair and drew him back to her. He smiled and kissed her again, gently pulling her lower lip into his mouth. _What sort of kissing is this?_ she wondered.

Thomas trailed his lips down Minnie's neck, dropped her straps on one side, and kissed her shoulder. He ran his fingers across her back and dropped the straps on the other side. Immediately her dress and slip fell to her waist revealing her bandeau. Thomas' head shot up in surprise. "Oh! I didn't realize ..."

Minnie was amused by Thomas' bewilderment. She didn't know whether he was surprised by her garments falling down or by the bandeau underneath. "What did you think was holding them up? Good intentions?" she joshed lightly. Thomas looked from the bandeau to Minnie's face and smiled sheepishly. Minnie stood, and her dress and slip fell to the floor. She stepped out of them and hung them on a hook. She turned back to Thomas wearing only her matching pink bandeau and tap shorts. Her heart was pounding. She had never been this exposed in front of a man. Even her swimming costume was more modest than this.

Thomas stood and pulled Minnie into his arms. "You're shivering. Are you cold?"

"A little."

"I'll take care of that." Thomas grinned and whisked Minnie off her feet. She tossed back her head and laughed. She could see that he was determined to enjoy this night in the guise of a cinematic hero. She had to admit that she was impressed with his strength. She wasn't as light as the more petite women at the Abbey. He threw back the covers and placed her gently on the sheets.

Thomas quickly removed his shirt and vest. Minnie pulled up the covers and tried to remain calm. He removed his trousers and folded them carefully before draping them over the seat of the chair. _Please don't let him remove his drawers_ , she prayed, _not yet_ , and her prayer was answered.

Thomas slipped under the covers and cozied up to Minnie. "Warmer?"

Thomas' heat enveloped Minnie deliciously. "Mmmm," she answered.

Thomas' fingers traced Minnie's breast over her bandeau, and the sensation made her gasp. He glanced up, then smiled and rested his head between her breasts. His fingers fumbled for the bandeau's fastening. After a few moments, he lifted his head. "I can't figure out this thing."

"This one fastens on the side." Minnie tried to be graceful as she unfastened it.

Thomas slowly pulled away the bandeau revealing Minnie's pale breasts. He gazed at them a few moments and touched them gingerly. Then he sighed and sat up. "Missus?"

Minnie gazed at Thomas, whose hair had fallen over his forehead in the most beguiling way. "Mmmm?"

"Would you mind if I turned off the lamps?"

"Oh!" _He must think I'm hideous._

Thomas wasn't smiling now. "You want me to be honest, don't you?"

 _Not really_ , Minnie thought to herself. "Yes," she answered.

"I may not look like Michelangelo's David, but you look exactly like Goya's Maja. You're as lovely as any painting I've seen, Missus, but let's face it. I'm used to David."

Thomas had been so attentive that Minnie had all but forgotten why they were there. It didn't matter how attractive he found her. He could never yearn for her the way she was yearning for him. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Turn them off."

Thomas quickly jumped out of the bed, turned off the lamps, and returned to Minnie. "It's getting chilly! Warm me up, Missus!" Minnie laughed and pulled him close. "You're so warm!" he exclaimed.

They lay together in the dark for several moments before Thomas moved. He pressed himself against her so that she was half-covered by him. "I'm not too heavy for you, am I?" he asked.

A small, "No," was all that escaped Minnie's lips. She was filled with a paralyzing combination of excitement and fear. Thomas brought his hand up to her cheek and lightly drew it down her neck, between her breasts, to her navel, and across her tap pants. She was aroused exactly as Sophie had said, _If it was done right_. Minnie felt Thomas' cheek with its hint of whisker against her as he cupped and kissed her breast. Her breath caught when she felt his tongue. _His tongue? I suppose that's how it's done, then._

Minnie wondered if Thomas would remove her tap pants next. She felt ready. Instead, he did nothing for a few moments and then seemed to start again from the beginning. He pressed himself against her more firmly. He paused and then began a third time. "Missus, would you ...? Do you think you could ...?"

"What, Thomas? What should I be doing?"

"Nothing." Thomas rolled away from Minnie and lay motionless.

"Please, Thomas. Tell me."

Thomas was silent.

"Thomas?"

Thomas rolled back to Minnie's embrace and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry, Minnie. I thought it would be ... I never would have agreed to this if I hadn't been certain I could ... I'm sorry, Minnie."

Thomas pulled himself away from Minnie's arms, and she could hear him fumbling for his clothes and dressing. "Thomas, what did I do wrong?"

"Minnie, I'm going to turn on the lamp. Please cover yourself."

 _So it was Minnie now, not Missus._ Minnie sat up and pulled the covers over herself.

Thomas turned on the lamp but kept his back to her. "Are you covered?"

"Yes."

Thomas sat on the edge of the bed and took Minnie's hand. "You didn't do a thing wrong, Minnie. You mustn't think that. I was certain I could make love to a woman if I was as fond of her as I am of you. I was wrong." He kissed her hand and silently finished dressing.

"We'll try again, Thomas. You can't smash all our dreams after one try!" insisted Minnie.

Thomas shook his head and opened the door. "Please don't hate me, Minnie."


	68. If You Would At Last Prevail

**CHAPTER 68: IF YOU WOULD AT LAST PREVAIL**

 **Early Monday morning**

 **The Servants' Hall**

After kissing his toddlekins and leaving him with Nanny, Bates was the first in the servants' hall for breakfast. He would have preferred to eat at home with Anna but could not risk depleting their larder. Anna had been ravenous during these last few weeks of pregnancy. Twice a day, Bates lugged home a bulging hamper packed by Mrs Patmore, but the generous portions barely lasted to his next delivery.

Bates had been struggling to stay on Anna's good side. When he was home, he annoyed her by being overly attentive. When he was at work, he exasperated her by forgetting to deliver a message or to retrieve a requested item or to run an errand. Bates had never thought of himself as absentminded, but he was not used to juggling the varied responsibilities he had as father, valet, businessman, and now errand boy. No matter. Here was a problem he could solve. He pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket. Thomas was not the only businessman who could be organized. Bates peeked at the solitary reminder on the first page, _Baxter - sewing machine_ , and returned the notebook to his pocket. Anna was hoping that Baxter would teach her to use a sewing machine and advise her about buying her own.

Mrs Hughes, Baxter, and Minnie joined Bates at the table, and he stood until Mrs Hughes was seated. "Miss Baxter ..." he began, but Baxter was speaking to Minnie.

"Minnie, aren't you feeling well. I've never known you to be so quiet."

"I have a bit of a headache, Miss Baxter, but I've already taken some aspirin. Thank you for asking."

"Miss Baxter," repeated Bates, but Thomas had entered the room, and everyone stood. Thomas nodded and sat silently. When Thomas failed to give the staff instructions for the day, Mrs Hughes peppered him with questions, to which he gave perfunctory replies. Mrs Hughes glanced at Bates with raised eyebrows, but Bates only shrugged.

What could it be this time? Did Levinson lose interest in their hotel concept? Did they lose their venue for the eclipse dance? No, it must be something else. A business obstacle would never distress Thomas; it would only excite his imagination. Something must have happened in his personal life. Bates looked at Minnie for a clue and could see that she and Thomas were avoiding eye contact. Perhaps Minnie had refused to consummate their relationship at the eleventh hour.

It disturbed Bates that a man as strong as Thomas could be derailed so easily by certain things. Daisy served breakfast, and Bates watched Thomas as he listlessly pushed his porridge around with a spoon and ate nothing. He could recognize this behaviour a mile off. He knew how quickly Thomas' emotional state could deteriorate, and if he tried to help, Thomas would brush him away like a bit of lint on his lapel. His frustration grew as he watched Thomas fill his belly with tea. He forgot himself and slammed his fist on the table, making everyone jump. He quickly apologised, "Sorry. It was a fly, but I missed."

"It's the time of year for flies," remarked Mrs Hughes.

Thomas glanced up to see Bates watching him. He dropped his head, took a bite of porridge, and choked it down. Bates turned his attention to his own breakfast. He knew that Thomas was not refusing to eat out of stubbornness but because the food stuck in his throat like a brick. There was no point in making him feel self-conscious. Bates would try a different tactic.

* * *

 **Late morning**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Bates waited until the usual hour to knock and open the pantry door. He stepped inside carrying a tall glass of milk, something he knew Thomas could tolerate no matter how distressed he was.

As soon as Bates entered the room, Thomas pulled the chequebook from his desk. "I'll be paying bills this morning, so you may as well escape while you can, Mr Bates."

Bates closed the door and sat. "I've reconsidered. I probably should understand the bookkeeping process."

Thomas looked up suspiciously and caught sight of the milk. "You brought me milk?" he huffed. "I'm not an infant, John Bates!"

"The milk is for me," Bates answered calmly.

"You detest milk!"

"Don't be ridiculous." Bates picked up the glass and took a sip. _God this stuff is dreadful._ "How refreshing. Care for a sip?" He guessed that Thomas' stomach was churning and begging to be fed.

"No!"

"More for me then." Bates took another sip and smacked his lips. "Delicious." He set the glass on the desk. "Shall I sort the invoices?"

Thomas handed the tray of bills to Bates. While Bates categorized them, Thomas sat with his head propped in his hand and stared at the milk. At last, he picked up the glass, drained it, and set it down. "You old goat."

"Would you care for another, little brother?"

Thomas nodded silently. Bates stood and reached for the glass, but Thomas grabbed his hand. "John ... Minnie and I have had our night together."

Bates was surprised but maintained his neutral expression. "All right."

Thomas released Bates' hand and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "She's still a virgin."

"I see." Bates returned to his seat. "Did she refuse you?"

"No," Thomas snorted. "I only wish she had. It was me, John. I couldn't do it."

"Do you mean you changed your mind or that you weren't able?"

"I wasn't able, John."

"I'm not surprised."

"What?"

"Pooh, you were so worried about the whole thing. Worry is not an aphrodisiac."

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"Has it ever happened to you?"

"Of course it has. It happens to all men sooner or later. It can happen if I'm preoccupied or tired. Are you saying it's never happened to you?"

"No."

Bates smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, to be young again."

"John ... she wants me to try again."

"And what do you want?"

"I can't bear for our plans to end, John. I can't accept it. But if I try again, nothing will have changed."

"It might change, Pooh, if you change your attitude about Minnie."

"What attitude?"

"This idea of yours that she's fragile. She's a healthy, grown woman, Pooh. Tell her what you need her to do. She doesn't have the experience to know. You ask for what you want when you're with a man, don't you?"

"It's not the same thing, John! I could never speak to Minnie the way I speak to a man."

Bates sat back in his chair. "Good. Then you don't want it as much as I thought, and that's the end of it. Now you can move on with your life."

"John! There isn't anything under the sun I want as much as I want this!"

"I don't believe you. If you're not willing to suffer a little embarrassment, then how much could it mean to you?"

Thomas fell silent, and Bates waited patiently for him to think it through. "You're right, John. What's a little embarrassment? It won't kill me."

"Let me get you that milk, Pooh."

"Wait, John. I know you don't approve of our plans. Why do you want me to try again?"

"I've been waiting for you to see things from where I stand and change your mind. I'm still waiting. But this is different. If you give up, it will haunt you. You'll spend the rest of your days wondering what would have happened if only you had tried again, and you'll be miserable. I don't want that for my little brother."

"John ... I'm sorry."

"All right. For what?"

"I know I don't make it easy for you."

"No, you don't!" Bates picked up the empty glass and headed for the door. "Don't forget, Pooh, _If you would at last prevail_ ..."

Thomas sighed. "I know. _Try, try again_."


	69. Try, Try Again

**CHAPTER 69: TRY, TRY AGAIN**

 **That night**

 **Downton Village**

The village was still as Thomas walked slowly to the Grantham Arms carrying the empty parcel. It had been Minnie's half day, so he hadn't seen her since their brief encounter after lunch when he agreed to a second attempt. _And a third, fourth, and fifth, if that's what you need to feel ready_ , she declared. He knew she was trying to relieve the pressure, but her words made him feel like a second-hand car that refused to crank.

Thomas was accustomed to completing Minnie's duties on her free days, but today he had found the extra work overwhelming. His brain was filled to the brim. He was drowning in a sea of thoughts, yet unable to grab onto one long enough to save himself. Perhaps it was for the better. Perhaps his body would participate tonight if his brain did not.

"I'll turn off the lights from the beginning this time," Thomas informed no one in particular. The last time he had been with Ivor, they had turned off the lights. Turning off the lights was not their habit; there was too much to appreciate in each other's beauty. But Ivor suggested they turn off the lights and fill their other senses, and it was an exhilarating night. "That's what I'll do. I'll turn off the lights, not think, and imagine Ivor." Thomas realized he had spoken aloud and glanced about to see if anyone was listening. Fortunately, his side of the road was deserted, and the couple he spotted walking on the other side was not close enough to take notice.

* * *

 **Room 5  
The Grantham Arms**

Thomas checked his pocket watch, slipped it back in his pocket, and knocked lightly. The door opened, and he was confused by the dim light. Minnie pulled him inside and shut the door. "Hullo, Thomas."

"Hullo, Missus." Thomas saw that only one lamp was lit, and it was covered by a piece of fabric that Minnie must have brought from home.

Minnie took the parcel and set it aside. "We don't need this." Before Thomas' eyes had a chance to adjust, Minnie was helping him off with his coat. He began to unbutton his waistcoat, but she gently pulled his hands away. "I'll do it." As she worked the buttons, she nuzzled Thomas' neck. She slipped off his waistcoat and reached for his tie. She loosened the knot and planted a smouldering kiss on his lips.

Thomas stood in dazed silence as Minnie pulled the tie free and unbuttoned his shirt. He was barely able to make out her silhouette in the darkened room. She was nuzzling his neck again and greeted his ear with her warm breath. He was pleased when he felt a faint spark travel down his limbs. _Imagine Ivor_ , he reminded himself. The desire to kiss was taking hold of him when, with no warning, she placed her hand firmly on his _credentials_. His brain froze, but his body recognized, accepted, and celebrated the gesture, and his baton led the parade.

Minnie dropped Thomas' shirt and pulled off his vest. She dropped her own dress and slip and pressed herself against him. He kissed her, but her cheek was too smooth. _Imagine Ivor_. His lips moved down her neck to her bandeau, but her chest was hairless. _IMAGINE IVOR_.

Thomas felt Minnie's hands fumbling at his waistband, and his trousers fell to his ankles. She pulled him to the side, and he cooperated by stepping out of his trousers. She eased his drawers to the floor, and he stepped out of them as well. She pressed her hand against his budding erection, this time with no trousers between her hand and his pleasure. She raised her mouth to his ear. "It seems that you like this." Thomas wisely did not allow his brain to consider whether he liked it or not. His body had been alone too long and was delighted to welcome a visitor. Minnie did not speak again until they finished what they had started.

* * *

 **Later**

Thomas was spent, and his mind was empty. He allowed himself to enjoy the cool darkness and Minnie's warm body cuddled at his side under the covers.

"What are you thinking?" ask Minnie.

"I have no idea," Thomas answered truthfully. He tried to gather his thoughts. "Missus ...?"

"Yes, darling?"

"How did you know what to do when only last night you didn't?"

"I visited Sophie yesterday. I've told you what a know-all she is."

Thomas was aghast. "You didn't tell her what we've been doing!"

"Of course not, silly."

"She instructed you for no reason?"

Minnie laughed. "Sophie's older, and her husband is much older ... close to fifty. I asked if he was as able in bed as when they first married. She said, no, but she knew how to bring him along. And then she told me precisely how. She loves to show off."

"Is that the sort of thing sisters share?"

"My sisters do."

Thomas chuckled. He stretch his arms and legs and rested one hand on Minnie's bottom. The implication of what they had accomplished suddenly flashed across his mind. "Missus, now we can marry!"

"You haven't proposed yet," teased Minnie.

"That's right. When shall I speak to your father?"

"He works a short day on Wednesday to make up for his long Saturday." Minnie kissed Thomas' cheek affectionately. "He'll be home by 4:00. We'll meet him together."

"That'll work. I'm meeting with Dr Clarkson in the morning about eye safety for our eclipse event."

"My busy boy."

Thomas trailed his finger down Minnie's neck and between her breasts and was surprised to encounter her bandeau. _Did she keep it on so she would feel less like a female to me?_ he wondered. "Missus, take off this thing. I want to feel you against me now." Minnie obliged and tossed the bandeau to the floor. Thomas rolled onto his side, kissed her breasts tenderly and rested his head between them. "We're going to have beautiful children, Missus."


	70. A Simple Test

**CHAPTER 70: A SIMPLE TEST**

* * *

 _1 June 1927_  
 _Downton_

 _My Dear Ivor,_

 _We have failed our boy. Thomas and Minnie have completed their contract, and Monday night, Thomas proved his ability to father Minnie's children._

 _Yesterday was an impossibly long day of meaningful glances and giggles between the two which were repeated this morning at breakfast. My stomach turns when I witness their giddiness, and I've been avoiding their company. Still Thomas managed to inform me of his plan to meet Minnie's father this afternoon and ask for her hand. Don't raise your hopes. It's no more than a polite gesture. No matter his answer, Minnie will marry Thomas._

 _I don't know what you believe about this situation, but I can tell you what I believe. I don't know what I believe. Thomas is as complex a man as I've ever known, and it's impossible to know whether this marriage will be his salvation or his damnation._

 _Am I some meddlesome old woman who believes no one can make her son as happy as herself? I know only that a foreboding overtakes me whenever I think of their nuptials. Can you believe that I was ready to ring you yesterday and beg you to come to Downton and seduce Thomas and expose his bogus desire for marriage. I've been that desperate and confused._

 _Please advise me, dear friend. Am I wrong to be fearful? Is our boy standing on the threshold of happiness as I'm too blinded by what? Jealousy? Am I jealous of Thomas' attention and having it diverted from my own family to his? If I could believe that were true, I would accept it and attend their wedding with rings on my fingers and bells on my toes. My gut tells me otherwise._

 _JB_

* * *

 **Late morning**

 **Downton Village Cottage Hospital**

Dr Clarkson studied Thomas as he read through the doctor's typed draft about the dangers of watching the eclipse without sufficient eye protection. There weren't many men who impressed the doctor, but Thomas was one of them. He remembered the young, cowardly Thomas who had tried to manipulate himself into the medical corps at the start of the war. The doctor knew Thomas expected a cushy spot at a hospital. He expedited Thomas' application knowing full well that a hospital assignment was unlikely.

Today, the Thomas who sat in his office was unrecognizable from that scheming lad. He was humble and sincere and had proven his courage when he leapt into a freezing river to rescue his friend. No man in Downton was more respected than Thomas, and no man in Downton appreciated his transformation more than the doctor. He was the only person to whom Thomas had ever disclosed the ordeal he had suffered during the years before coming to Downton. Thomas had confided in the doctor because he wanted the doctor to decide whether Minnie must be told. The doctor considered that another act of bravery but saw no reason to pass the story to Minnie.

Thomas set the draft on Dr Clarkson's desk. "It's too long," he advised. "The shorter the message, the greater the number of people who will bother to read it." They edited the message together and discussed Eclipsia screens, protective attachments for binoculars, and pinholes.

When their business was concluded, Dr Clarkson leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry that I couldn't give your fiancée the reassurance she wanted when she came to see me last week."

"Last week?"

"Yes, when she asked for an exam that would reveal any impediment to her becoming pregnant and carrying a baby to full term."

Thomas turned pale. "You mean you found an impediment? She didn't say!"

"No, no. I mean that there are far too many factors involved in a pregnancy than I'm able to evaluate. From the exam, I could tell her only that I discovered no problem. I reminded her that none of her sisters have had any difficulties."

"Then as far as you're able to tell, she can give us children?"

"That's right. As far as I'm able to tell. Funny that it didn't occur to me to mention that there's a simple test for men. There's much less to consider when it comes to the father."

"A test for men?" Thomas crossed his legs. "Does it hurt?"

Dr Clarkson smiled. "Not at all. It's not an invasive test, but it does require the man to become intimate with a cup."

"A cup? What do you mean? Oh! WHILE YOU WATCH?"

"Heavens no!" Dr Clarkson chuckled. "Medical science has saved me from that, at least." The doctor stood. "We could perform the test right now if you like, Mr Barrow. We'll provide you with a private room, and you may take all the time you need. Then I'll examine your sperm under a microscope."

"Let's do it! Minnie will be pleased that we can be certain of me!"


	71. That's That

**CHAPTER 71: THAT'S THAT**

 **Late afternoon**

 **The Abbey's Attic Storage**

Thomas hadn't returned from his meeting with Dr Clarkson yet when Bates hobbled home at noon carrying the day's mending for Anna and Mrs Patmore's hamper. After lunch, Bates busied himself in the Abbey's attic in order to avoid Thomas. He was afraid of losing his temper to no good purpose. He spent the afternoon examining Lord Grantham's winter wardrobe and pulling items in need of repair. He tried not to think about the conversation that must be taking place between Thomas and Minnie's father.

Bates was setting aside a sturdy but outdated suit for the missionary barrel when he heard someone scuffling up the stairs. He turned to greet the intruder when Minnie ran into the room and threw herself, sobbing, onto a dusty fainting couch. Bates was alarmed. No woman was less given to tears than Minnie. "Minnie, what is it?"

Minnie sat up with a start. "Oh, it's you, Mr Bates. I thought I was alone."

"What's wrong, Minnie? Should I fetch Mrs Hughes? Are you sick?"

Minnie pulled out her handkerchief and tried to compose herself. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr Bates. If I were sick, I wouldn't be running to the attic, would I?" Her tone was uncharacteristically sharp.

"Do you want me to leave?" Minnie nodded. Bates took Old Ram in hand but hesitated before heading to the stairs. "I thought you and Thomas would be with your father now."

"There won't be any conversations between Thomas and my father. I know that will make you happy, Mr Bates."

"It doesn't make me happy to see you upset, Minnie."

Minnie took a shaky breath. "I know. I shouldn't have said that."

Bates propped Old Ram against the wardrobe and eased himself onto a discarded Chippendale chair. "You know I'm not in favour of this marriage, but I've told Thomas that once it's a fact, I'll do all I can to support it."

"It won't ever be a fact."

Bates absently fingered the tin of mints in his pocket. _Why don't I feel relieved? What could have happened between them since breakfast?_ "Minnie, we're alone up here. It's safe to call me John. Won't you tell me what's happened?"

"Do I seem in the mood for conversation, John?"

Bates thoughts were in turmoil. _How can I feel relieved? Thomas has deflowered this woman, and now he's turned his back on her. He has a duty._ "Is Thomas afraid to face your father? It's only a case of cold feet. Minnie. I'll have a talk with him, and everything will be rosy again."

"No, John, it's nothing like that. Our situation has changed, and a marriage is no longer ... it wouldn't make any sense now ... except that I ..." Minnie could not withhold her tears. "Forgive me, John, I don't mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed, Minnie." Bates could not bear to see Minnie so miserable, but he could not help himself. "Won't you tell me? What do you mean your situation has changed?"

Minnie shook her head. "It's not for me to say. John. You'll have to hear it from Thomas. It's not his fault, you know. It's not my fault, and it's not his fault, but it's happened, and that's that." Minnie blew her nose. "John, you'll see that he's all right, won't you? He stood there staring at the wall while he told me. Please, John ... you'll know what to say to him."

"I'll check on him, Minnie, I promise, but what about you? I'm afraid I've been an oaf. What can I do for you?"

"Please, John, leave me be. I need to wail a bit, and I don't need a witness. I thought this would be a safe place. I didn't know you were here."

"I understand." Bates stood and took hold of Old Ram. "Can't you see, Minnie? Better a small pain now than a greater pain after you were wed."

"Tell that to Thomas and see where it gets you." Bates turned towards the stairs. "John, I'm sorry. I won't be snippy after I've had a good cry."

Bates turned back one last time. "Anna's alone at the cottage, Minnie. She would love some company, and if you want to talk, you can trust her to keep your confidences ... even from me."


	72. The March Hare

**CHAPTER 72: THE MARCH HARE**

 **A short time later**

Bates left Minnie in the storage room without gathering the clothes he had selected for repair. He would have to return later. He did not relish bringing his mending chores to Anna, but she would not be happy unless she contributed a full day's wage to the family kitty, and a full day's wage required a full day's work.

Bates took his time descending the stairs to Thomas' pantry. He knew what to expect. Thomas would be burying his disappointment in work. Bates would spend the next week, or two or three, cajoling him to eat and sleep. Eventually, Thomas would get caught up in the excitement of the eclipse dance and planning their meeting with Levinson and his sense of loss would fade.

Bates knocked and opened the pantry door expecting to find Thomas poring over his notebook, inventing tasks for himself. Instead, Thomas was standing in front of his desk and staring at the wall. He seemed oblivious to Bates' presence. Minnie had said that Thomas was standing that way when he broke the engagement. Surely he had not been standing there all this time. No matter. Bates knew how to get his attention. "Your hair's a sight, little brother. Have you been walking around the village like that?"

"Mmm?" Thomas mumbled.

Bates stepped in front of Thomas. "Thomas!"

Thomas seemed confused, as though Bates had awakened him. "I didn't hear you open the door."

"That's all right, Pooh. You're preoccupied."

"I'm going to bed," Thomas declared abruptly.

Bates was surprised. He had never known Thomas to abandon his work for a nap whatever the circumstance. Still, Bates believed in the restorative power of sleep. "Take as long as you like, Pooh. I'll tell Mrs Hughes that you're ..." Thomas was out the door and down the corridor before Bates could finish.

* * *

 **Later that night**

Bates slowly maneuvered the stairs to the attic while balancing Thomas' dinner tray. As he approached Thomas' room, he could hear Thomas speaking. He was arguing with someone. Who would have come to his room? No one else lived on the men's side now except Billy, who had been permitted to stay while he was apprenticed at the garage. Billy was not likely to visit his superior. Could it be Andy? Certainly Minnie would not dare to visit the men's side. Bates listened but heard only Thomas' voice. He tapped the door lightly with Old Ram while he clutched the tray with his other hand. "Mr Barrow?" No response. He tapped the door again. "I'm carrying a tray. Won't one of you open the door?"

Bates heard Thomas deliver a strained, "Be quiet!" to his visitor.

"Mr Barrow, I'm going to open the door." Bates opened the door and glanced about the room. Thomas was alone. Bates set down the tray and closed the door. "You're a bit young to be talking to yourself, aren't you, little brother?" he teased lightly. Bates understood that idiosyncrasy. He himself had been discovered by Anna on two separate occasions arguing passionately in their bedroom with an invisible combatant.

Thomas was lying on top of his bed covers staring at the Churchill painting that hung on the wall over his small writing desk. He was wearing the suit he had worn into the village that morning. Thomas was not the type to be careless with his clothing. Perhaps he truly was ill. Bates sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Thomas' forehead. "You don't have a fever. Have you slept?"

"I'm a man," Thomas asserted.

"I didn't think you were the March Hare."

"You think I'm mad as a March hare!"

"That's not what I said, Pooh. I said ..." Bates shook his head. It was useless to argue with Thomas while he was in a mood. He removed Thomas' shoes and stood. "You'll sleep better if you undress and lie under the covers."

Thomas was silent.

"Stand up, Pooh." Thomas stood without argument, which surprised Bates. He was neither cooperative nor hostile. He simply allowed Bates to take care of him. Bates changed Thomas into his pyjamas and pulled back the bed covers. "Eat your dinner and get a good night's sleep. Sleep as late as you like in the morning. Andy's agreed to work a full day tomorrow."

Thomas remained silent and stared at the dinner tray.

"Right. Enjoy your dinner, little brother." Bates carried Thomas' suit downstairs for pressing. _He'll be more himself in the morning._

* * *

 **The next morning**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

Thomas did not appear at breakfast. Bates dressed Lord Grantham, as usual, and waited in the kitchen until Mrs Patmore was able to prepare a breakfast tray for Thomas.

Bates laboured up the stairs with the tray and Old Ram. He did not knock on the chance that Thomas was sleeping. "Mr Barrow," he called softly. There was no answer, so Bates opened the door. It took a moment for him to comprehend what he was seeing. The contents of Thomas' wardrobe had been thrown on the floor. Bates set down the tray and closed the door. He opened the wardrobe and inside found the Churchill painting and last night's dinner tray. The food appeared to be untouched.

Thomas was sitting on the floor in his pyjamas, huddled between the wall and the bed. He was staring at Bates and holding his hands over his ears. Bates struggled to remain calm. He pulled one of Thomas' hands away from his ear. "Come sit with me, Pooh." Bates sat on the edge of the bed and held out his hand. Thomas took his hand and pulled himself to his feet. He sat next to Bates, and Bates draped his arm around Thomas' shoulders. Bates did not know how to begin. "I don't know what to do, Pooh. Won't you tell me what's wrong?" Thomas did not respond. Bates knew all of Thomas' moods, but this was not a mood. This was something else.

"Why is the painting in the wardrobe?"

"He wouldn't stop talking.

"Who wouldn't?"

"The boy in the boat."

Bates felt his body go numb. "The boy in the painting spoke to you?"

"He won't shut up."

Bates' mind raced. Was this a temporary condition? If Bates asked Dr Clarkson for advice, would the doctor commit Thomas to an asylum? Could Bates prevent it? He had no legal rights where Thomas was concerned.

Thomas leaned his head on Bates' shoulder. "I'm tired."

"Did you sleep last night?" Silence. "You didn't eat. Am I right?" Silence. Bates took hold of Thomas' chin. "You have to eat something. Do you know what will happen if you don't?" Silence. Bates knew what would happen. He had seen it in prison when a convict went on a hunger strike. He watched as the man was restrained and force fed. It was dreadful.

If Bates could not convince Thomas to eat, he would have no choice but to ask Dr Clarkson for help. Bates could not bear the thought of Thomas being force fed. The convict had made a choice and suffered the consequences he knew were inevitable. Thomas could not comprehend the choice he was making. He would be terrified.

Bates walked around the bed and retrieved a glass of milk from the breakfast tray. He held out the glass to Thomas. "Drink this," he commanded. Thomas stared blankly at the wall. Bates held the glass to Thomas' lips, but Thomas did not respond. Bates held Thomas nose, and when he opened his mouth, Bates poured in the milk. Thomas leapt to his feet and spat out the milk. Bates grabbed him by the hair, pulled back his head, and poured in more milk. "There's nothing wrong with your gullet! Swallow, damn it!" Again, Thomas spat out the milk and waved his arms wildly. Bates let go of Thomas' hair and watched him sputter. He slapped Thomas' cheek hard. Thomas was stunned and stood with his mouth open. Bates immediately locked his arm around Thomas' neck and poured in the last of the milk. Thomas choked and coughed and fell to his knees as the milk dribbled down his chin. Bates threw the empty glass at the wall in disgust and it shattered where the painting had been.

Bates sat heavily on the bed. Thomas remained on his knees, and Bates took hold of his shoulder with a viselike grip. "I'll tell you what's going to happen," he began grimly. They'll strap you to a chair or a bed. They'll take a long tube and force it down your nose to your stomach, or maybe they'll put a steel piece in your mouth to hold it open so they can force the tube down your throat. They'll use a funnel to pour some slop down the tube and hold you there until it's absorbed. Then they'll pull out the tube slowly while you gag."

Thomas clutched Bates' legs and dropped his head to Bates' lap. "Don't let them!"

Bates felt a glimmer of hope. He stroked Thomas' hair. "I can't stop them unless you eat. Will you eat, Pooh?"

"It's not safe."

"What do you mean?" Bates pulled himself free from Thomas and walked to the breakfast tray. He lifted the cloche from the plate of scrambled eggs and sausage that Mrs Patmore had sent to improve Thomas' constitution.

Before Bates knew what was happening, Thomas screamed, "Don't!" and knocked the plate to the floor.

"What the hell are you doing!" demanded Bates.

"It's poison! Minnie wants to poison me!"

Bates opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. How could he argue with a delusion? He saw that Thomas was holding his hand away from his body. "What happened? Did you burn your hand on the plate?"

"I touched the food! My hand's turning green!"

Bates saw the fear in Thomas' eyes. "Let's take a look in the light. Perhaps it's not so bad." He slipped his arm around Thomas' shoulders and pulled him toward the window. He made a show of carefully inspecting Thomas' hand. "It was only a shadow that made your hand green. It's fine, Pooh." Thomas dropped into a chair and gingerly rested his hand in his lap.

"Listen to me, Pooh. Minnie was serving breakfast to the family when Mrs Patmore prepared your tray. She hasn't been near this food." Bates poured a small amount of tea into a cup and stirred to cool it. He took a sip. "See. No poison. Now you take a sip." He held out the cup to Thomas who took a small sip. Bates wanted to cry with relief. He took a piece of toast, dipped a corner in the tea, and took a bite. "Now you." He dipped another corner in the tea and held it out to Thomas who obediently took a bite.

"They won't bring the tube?"

"Not as long as you eat, Pooh." Bates and Thomas shared what was salvageable from the breakfast tray.

It took Bates more than an hour to restore order to the room and to change Thomas out of his milk-drenched pyjamas to a fresh pair. Now Thomas was tucked under the covers with Bates at his side. "I'm sorry about the milk, Pooh. I'm sorry I hit you."

"So they won't bring the tube."

"That's right. I did it so they won't bring the tube." Thomas understood. Perhaps he was not as far gone as Bates had thought.

"I'm tired." Thomas rolled onto his side and took hold of the pocket flap on Bates coat.

"I have to go downstairs, Pooh. We can't both disappear. I'll bring you a lunch tray later straight from Mrs Patmore, and we'll share it, same as before."

"I'm mad as a March hare."

"Don't say that."

"I'm tired."

"Close your eyes then." Thomas closed his eyes but kept his grip on Bates' pocket. Bates fondly smoothed Thomas' hair away from his face. It did not matter that Thomas had pulled him from the river. It did not matter that Thomas had taught him to have bigger dreams for his children. It mattered only that he had learned to love this young man who seemed unable to find his way in spite of reforming himself. Bates closed his hand over the hand that gripped his coat pocket. _Help me, Rose. You gave him to me, and I don't know what to do._


	73. As Though Nothing Were Amiss

**CHAPTER 73: AS THOUGH NOTHING WERE AMISS**

 **Noon that same day**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**

So far, no one was suspicious of Thomas' absence. Mrs Patmore had declared, "Mr Barrow may be many things, but one thing he is not is a layabout. If Mr Barrow says he's sick, then he's sick." The family and the other servants shared her sentiment and asked Bates to deliver their well-wishes.

Bates stood outside Thomas' room with the lunch tray and called, "Mr Barrow." He did not expect an answer and opened the door, but Thomas was nowhere to be seen. Bates set down the tray and hobbled to the bathroom. Thomas was not there either. Panic spread down Bates' limbs and turned them cold. Was Thomas wandering about in his pyjamas? Whoever found him would ring Dr Clarkson, and Thomas would be carted off to god knows where. It was vital that Bates be the first to find him.

Bates started for the stairs, but a gut feeling compelled him to return to Thomas' room and open the wardrobe. There sat Thomas and the Churchill painting, both half hidden behind the clothes that Bates had put away that morning. Bates forced himself to behave as though nothing were amiss. "I've brought your lunch, little brother, straight from Mrs Patmore. Are you hungry?" Bates held out his hand, and Thomas took hold and climbed out of the wardrobe. Thomas' blue eyes seemed unfocused and were all but lost in dark shadow. Bates wondered if he had slept at all.

Thomas sat on the edge of the bed, and Bates sat between him and the night table where he had placed the tray. Thomas took hold of Bates' pocket flap as he had that morning, and Bates found the gesture oddly comforting. Bates picked up a glass of milk from the tray and took a sip. He handed the milk to Thomas, who gulped it down. "Slow down, Pooh. You'll make yourself sick." Bates shook his head. _I sound like my mother. Thomas is right. I am an old goat._

Bates picked up the cloche from a plate of scrambled eggs. "Mrs Patmore was worried when she saw that you didn't eat last night's dinner. She made these eggs especially for you." Bates took a bite and held out the plate to Thomas. Thomas took a bite and noisily choked it down. Bates could see Thomas' eyes water with the effort. He returned the plate to the tray. "That's all right, Pooh. There's rice pudding and soup. Perhaps those will be easier."

"The tube!" protested Thomas.

"No one will bring the tube because you didn't eat the eggs," Bates soothed. "Not as long as you eat _something_." Bates took a bite of the pudding and held out the dish to Thomas. Thomas tentatively took a bite and then another and then gobbled it down while Bates held the dish. Thomas never let go of Bates' pocket.

"The soup smells delicious, doesn't it, Pooh?" asked Bates. Thomas shook his head and released Bates' pocket. He climbed back into the wardrobe and shut the door behind him. Bates watched him in helpless silence.

Anna would know what to do. Bates stood next to the wardrobe. "I must bring Anna her lunch now, little brother, but I'll be back later with tea." Thomas was silent. Bates cracked open the wardrobe door. "Will you be all right, Pooh?" Thomas reached out from the wardrobe, patted Bates' leg, and pulled the door shut.

* * *

 **The Bates Cottage**

By the time Bates reached the cottage, he was distraught. "If Thomas doesn't return to work soon, Mrs Hughes will ring Dr Clarkson no matter what I say. Dr Clarkson will ship him off to some asylum, and he'll be at the mercy of some alienist who'll put him in a cold shower until he's half frozen or inject him with malaria so that the fever will cure him. He'll think I've abandoned him, Anna."

"Calm yourself, John. Asylums today aren't like the ones we heard about as children, and the doctors are called psychiatrists now, not alienists."

"Are they? Whatever they're called, they'll make Thomas feel punished for a condition he can't control. Do you want to see him committed?"

"No," answered Anna firmly. "But we can't leave him in the attic where he's been his unhappiest and where his condition is more likely to be discovered. Bring him here. I'll take care of him."

"What about Timothy? Anna, what if Thomas becomes violent? I don't believe he will, but what do I know? I never thought he would sit in a wardrobe and have conversations with a boy in a painting."

"We'll let Timothy stay overnight in the nursery. You remember what fun he had last time. One night and then we'll see what's to be done. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. The first thing is to bring Thomas here without being noticed."

* * *

 **The Boot Room**

Bates had dropped a package of completed mending in Mrs Hughes sitting room and was heading for the stairs to fetch Thomas when a hand pulled him into the boot room. He turned impatiently to face the perpetrator, and it was Minnie. "John, find Thomas!"

"What are you talking about? He's in his room."

"No, he isn't! I caught him leaving by the servants' entrance only a moment ago. He told me he wasn't poisoned and he was going to Chicago and to keep away from him, and he ran out the door."

"Oh god!"

"John, he made no sense. Something's not right. I'm going to ring Dr Clarkson."

"Minnie, no!" Bates grabbed Minnie by the arm and dragged her to the door. "Help me find him first. That's what's urgent."

Minnie nodded and the pair hurried out the servants' entrance. Thomas was out of sight but one of his shoes was sitting on the path to the Bates cottage. As they walked up the path, they stumbled across the other shoe and then Thomas' coat. Bates could barely contain his desperation.

"Look!" Bates followed Minnie's finger and saw Thomas sitting in his pyjamas on the bank of the River Swale, clutching his pillowcase.


	74. The White Wall

**Chapter 74 - THE WHITE WALL**

 **By the River Swale**

Thomas stretched out his legs on a grassy knoll along the river. It was a pleasant day, and he was enjoying the heat of the sun on his face. He wished he could remember why he was there. When he looked into his mind, he saw only an imposing white wall. As he gazed at the river, a word floated across the wall, a word spelled out in wooden letters. _Boat_. He was waiting for a boat.

Voices careened up the path and disturbed Thomas' peace. Angry voices. He looked down the path and saw Bates and Minnie arguing. Thomas could see their words flying about their heads like daggers and falling to the ground where their sharp points stuck into the dirt. He watched as Minnie turned and ran down the path to the Abbey. There! He knew he could count on Bates to protect him.

Bates waved and hurried up the path to Thomas. He leaned against Old Ram and rested his hand on Thomas' shoulder. "What are you doing here, little brother?" Bates' gentle voice mixed with the sun and kissed Thomas' face. "Pooh ... what are you doing?"

"Boat," replied Thomas, patting his bag.

"You're taking a boat?"

"Boat."

"Pooh, you wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to Anna, would you? She'd be heartbroken."

Thomas saw a new word against the white wall, written in strawberries. "Sweetheart."

"That's right, Pooh, Anna calls you sweetheart. Put on your shoes and we'll go see her together." Bates held out a pair of shoes, but Thomas had shoes and returned his gaze to the river. "Pooh, look at your feet."

Thomas looked at his feet. They were bare. _When did I take off my shoes?_ He felt dizzy. The sun was too hot now.

"You're all right, Pooh," reassured Bates. "It's been a confusing day for me too. Put on your shoes quickly now. Anna's expecting us." Thomas obediently slipped on the shoes, but his hands were shaking, and he could not tie them. "It doesn't matter. We're not going that far." Bates held out his hand and pulled Thomas to his feet. "You should wear your coat, Pooh. You want to be dressed properly when you see Anna." He helped Thomas slip the coat over his pyjamas.

 _When did I take off my coat?_ Thomas picked up his bag and felt his knees giving way.

"Help me, little brother. My leg's worse than usual. I need a little support." Thomas forgot his weak knees and wrapped his arm around Bates' waist. "Thank you, Pooh. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Thomas concentrated on keeping Bates steady, and before he knew it, they were at the cottage. Bates opened the door. "I saw Dr Clarkson's car. Thomas, go straight to the bedroom!" ordered Bates.

Thomas froze. He could feel the hard edge of Bates' words grate against his skin. Something was wrong. He saw _BEDROOM_ in large black letters against the white wall, but the letters were upside down.

Anna set down her mending and rushed to Thomas' side. "It's all right, sweetheart. John wants you to wait in the bedroom while Dr Clarkson is here."

A firm knock sounded at the door. Each rap rattled Thomas' brain. He clutched his bag to his chest and ran into the bedroom.

"We're agreed?" Thomas heard Bates ask Anna.

"We're agreed," Anna replied. She smiled at Thomas and shut the bedroom door.


	75. Mr Bates' Integrity

**Chapter 75 - MR BATES' INTEGRITY**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Anna opened the door for Dr Clarkson who was accompanied by another man. "Have you come to check on me, Dr Clarkson?"

"Not today, Mrs Bates. I received an urgent call from Miss Childs about Mr Barrow. She said Mr Bates was bringing him here."

"Mr Barrow is in the bedroom."

"This is Dunne. He's an attendant at the hospital. I brought him in case I need assistance."

Anna permitted the two men to enter the cottage, and the doctor and Bates exchanged greetings. The doctor caught sight of the sofa that Anna had made up for Thomas. "You have a cosy home here. Is this where you intended to have Mr Barrow sleep?"

"Yes," replied Anna. "The ceiling in the attic is too low for a man as tall as Mr Barrow."

"Mr Barrow won't have to worry about low ceilings at the hospital."

"Mr Barrow won't be going to the hospital," asserted Bates.

"Mr Bates, I can appreciate that you want to help the man who saved your life, but you don't have the necessary expertise. We'll take good care of him at the hospital."

"At the hospital or at an asylum? I tell you, he's not going!"

"I won't pretend that an asylum isn't a possibility. I also won't pretend that you have any legal right to keep him here, Mr Bates."

"Don't I? I may be only his half-brother, but I believe that's enough to give me the right, Dr Clarkson."

"What game is this? You're not his brother."

"My husband does not play games, Doctor," Anna interjected sharply. "Mr Barrow and my husband have the same mother."

"That's preposterous! I've known them both for years and have never heard mention of them being brothers."

"We kept it a secret," replied Bates. "We didn't want to be accused of favouritism. It hardly mattered. We didn't get along when I first came to the Abbey. I know it was petty of me, but I was jealous that my mother left my family to begin another. Divorce was unheard of in those days."

"Hold on a moment. Mr Barrow told me that his mother died when he was a boy. Didn't your mother die during the war?"

"That was my husband's stepmother, Dr Clarkson! She was a darling woman and treated my husband as her own child. Frankly, Doctor, I'm insulted that you came here to question my husband's integrity!"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs Bates! I came here out of concern for Mr Barrow, and I insist on speaking directly to him!"

* * *

Thomas pressed his ear to the door. He could hear the conversation in the parlour but could not make out the words. The words sounded polite at first but then swelled and hardened. They banged against the bedroom door like stones. Thomas backed into the corner and held his bag against his chest. He looked about the bedroom for an avenue of escape. The wall opposite the door had two high windows, both of which were open. He stepped around the bed to take a closer look. The windows were small ... perhaps too small. He reached up to get a handhold when he heard the bedroom door open.

"What are you doing?" Bates asked softly. "Come here, little brother."

"No!"

"I need you, Pooh."

Thomas let go of the window and cautiously approached Bates who embraced him gently. Bates whispered in his ear, "You're my brother, Pooh. You must never forget that you're my brother. Now, you say it."

Silence.

Bates released Thomas and took a step back. He clasped Thomas' shoulders and leaned his head forward until their foreheads touched. "Say it, Pooh. Say you're my brother."

"Brother."

"Good." Bates smoothed Thomas' hair and opened the door. "You first."

Thomas stepped through the door and saw Dr Clarkson sitting opposite him at the table. A stocky man with bright red hair was standing at the doctor's side. Thomas turned back to the bedroom, but Bates blocked him. "It'll be all right, little brother. I promise."

Thomas turned back to the doctor, who smiled congenially. "Good afternoon, Mr Barrow. I understand you've been having some difficulties."

Silence.

"Mr Barrow, what is your relationship to Mr Bates?"

Bates protested, "Do you think it's reasonable to ask him, Dr Clarkson? He's confused."

"Mr Bates, please let him answer. Now, Mr Barrow ... your relationship to Mr Bates?"

Bates interrupted again. "He calls me Bonnie John, and I call him Terrible Thomas."

"Please, Mr Bates, allow Mr Barrow to speak."

Thomas turned to Bates, who smiled. "I'm ... I'm ..."

"Kindly look at me, Mr Barrow."

Bates nodded. "Go ahead, Terrible Thomas, answer the doctor."

Thomas turned to Dr Clarkson. "I'm ... his ... noisy little brother."

Dr Clarkson sat back in his chair and shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing, Mr Bates. As Mr Barrow's half-brother, you have the legal right to keep him here. If he should harm himself, or anyone else for that matter, then it will be your responsibility."

"I understand, Dr Clarkson."

"Dunne please wait for me by the car."

The redheaded man turned to leave, and Thomas could see that he was holding something behind his back, a peculiar garment of some sort. A long sleeve with a strap at the end fell to the floor and dragged behind the man. Thomas gripped the back of a chair. He felt Bates' arm around his shoulders. "Stay calm, Pooh. Everything's all right."

Dr Clarkson gazed first at Thomas and then at Bates. "I never would have guessed. You're the same height, and you have the same colouring, but you look nothing alike."

"My little brother was blessed with our mother's good looks. I wasn't so fortunate," replied Bates.

Thomas tried to follow the conversation, but it was making his head spin. He was confused by Bates' intimate behaviour in front of Dr Clarkson. Why was he using their private names? "I'm tired."

"I know, Pooh. Be patient."

"Mr Barrow, do I have your permission to discuss the details of your case with your brother?"

"Go home!"

"Thomas!" scolded Anna. "Dr Clarkson has been kind enough to allow you to stay. Please be kind enough to answer him."

"Do I have your permission, Mr Barrow?"

Thomas nodded and backed up until he felt Bates against his shoulder. He slipped his hand behind his back but could not find Bates' pocket flap.


	76. The Invisible Man

**Chapter 76 - THE INVISIBLE MAN**

 **A moment later**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Thomas closed his eyes to shut out Dr Clarkson. When he opened them, Dr Clarkson had shifted his attention to Bates. "I hope you'll allow me to advise you about Mr Barrow's condition while he's in your care."

"We're counting on it, Doctor," replied Bates.

Dr Clarkson returned his attention to Thomas, which made Thomas uneasy, and he averted his eyes. "Mr Barrow, if you have no objection, I would like to consult about your case with a friend of mine, a psychiatrist at the West Riding Asylum in Wakefield. Would you allow me to ask you some questions?"

"What can it hurt, Pooh?" whispered Bates.

"I'm tired."

"It won't take long, and I'll be right here, little brother."

Thomas faced the doctor and nodded.

"Tell me, Mr Barrow, why are you carrying a pillowcase?"

Silence.

"The pillowcase, Mr Barrow?"

Thomas looked at the pillowcase in his hands. "My bag! My things!"

"Pooh, you never had a bag. You've been carrying that pillowcase since you left the Abbey."

"My things! The boat!"

"The boat? What boat is that, Mr Barrow?"

Silence.

"He told Minnie that he was going to Chicago," Bates calmly informed the doctor. "When I caught up to him at the river, he mentioned a boat."

"Mr Barrow, were you waiting for a boat?"

"Yes."

"A boat to take you from the River Swale to Chicago?"

"Yes ... no ... I don't ..."

"That's all right, Mr Barrow, I understand. Tell me, when did your symptoms begin? When I gave you the results of your test?"

Silence.

"When I told you that you won't be able to father a child?"

Thomas felt his legs tremble. Bates grasped his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Pooh. I didn't know."

"Catch him, John!" called Anna. Bates caught Thomas around the waist as his legs gave way and eased him into a chair.

Now Bates, Anna and the doctor were speaking all at once. Their words fell to the floor and split apart until the broken bits were ankle deep. Thomas reached out and tried to catch a phrase here or there, but he captured only useless words: _when_ , _there_ and _if._ Suddenly the room was silent. Bates took hold of Thomas' arms and lowered them gently to his lap. He peered at Thomas' face and spoke, but the words floated softly to the floor unrecognized.

Bates stood next to the chair so that Thomas could lean against him. As he resumed his conversation with the doctor, he pressed Thomas' head to his side. Thomas was soothed by the warmth of Bates' hand over his ear. He watched as Dr Clarkson ignored him and spoke to Bates and Anna and Bates again. Thomas realized that the doctor could no longer see him. With Bates' hand over his ear, he was invisible. Nevertheless, he was relieved when the interview was over, and Dunne and Dr Clarkson drove off.

Bates retrieved a bottle of milk from the second-hand ice box. He had purchased the battered thing a few months earlier when he confidently declared, "As long as there's a man to deliver ice, we can do without electricity." Bates poured a glass of milk and took a sip. He held out the glass to Thomas just as a loud clatter made Thomas jump. Thomas turned to see that Anna had dropped an empty pan on the floor. He knew that it was difficult for her to bend during her final month of pregnancy. He picked up the pan and returned to his seat. He greedily drank the milk that Bates handed him even though it had an odd taste. Perhaps the ice box was not as cold as it should be.

Anna looked at the clock and pushed Bates out the door. She cheered Thomas with her agreeable smile as she wiped his hands and face clean. Thomas knew that he should be ashamed to be so helpless. He had no illness, no injury. But he could manage no emotion other than relief that Anna was to be his nursemaid. Had he ever been a butler? Had he ever been in charge? It did not seem possible.

Anna pulled back the covers from the sofa and helped Thomas remove his shoes and coat. He was exhausted, but he knew that sleep would not come. It never did. He watched as Anna hurried to the bedroom and returned with a jar of Vaseline. She smoothed a thin layer over his chapped lips. _She sees everything!_

A wave of dizziness passed through Thomas, and he was overtaken by a sense of falling. He gripped the cushions. "Help!" Anna sat on the edge of the sofa and reassured him. He could not grasp her words, but her motherly tone cradled him. His eyelids shut and refused to open. He felt Anna squeeze his hand. He called her, "Strawberries," before he rolled onto his side and covered his ear with his hand.


	77. Unca Iskies

**Chapter 77: UNCA ISKIES**

* * *

 **Patient Record: Thomas Barrow**

Wednesday, June 1, 1927:

2.30 pm: Emergency call from patient's former fiancée. Patient speaking irrationally; left house in pyjamas.

Visited patient at home of brother. Diminished capacity for receptive and expressive communication.

Brother's observations: (chronic) insomnia and choking on solid food during bouts of anxiety; (new) hallucinations (auditory, visual) and delusion (fiancée attempting to poison patient).

Possible trigger: Previous day's laboratory test indicating patient is infertile.

Against my recommendation, brother refused hospitalization for patient. Agreed to my consulting with Louis Webb. Telephone consultation scheduled for 9.00 am Friday.

Treatment: 500 mg chloral hydrate powder for insomnia. Instructed brother to administer in milk.

Informed patient's employer that patient is suffering from exhaustion. Will give employer more complete diagnosis at later date if unavoidable. Employer expressed willingness to abide by recommendation for extended period of rest. Also expressed indignation that patient was removed from her home without her knowledge.

* * *

 **The Bates Cottage**

 **Early, the next morning**

Thomas awoke to darkness. As he rolled onto his back, his arm slid from the narrow sofa to the floor, and he remembered where he was. He rubbed the grit from his eyes, but a heavy grogginess remained. A sense of urgency led him out the side door to the privy. _Here's something I can do for myself._ He peeked inside the privy to be certain Dr Clarkson's red-haired man was not waiting to snatch him.

By the time Thomas returned to the parlour, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He caught sight of Bates dozing in his chair and avoided tripping over his outstretched legs. Thomas had no idea what he should do next. Bates would know, but Thomas did not want to wake him. He gripped the edge of Bates' robe and glanced about the dark room for a clue. Nothing. He released Bates' robe and tiptoed to Timothy's small, iron bed. Thomas leaned over the low bed, but it was empty. "THE BABY! THE BABY! THE BABY! THE BABY!"

"Thomas, stop it! Stop! STOP SCREAMING!" Bates grabbed Thomas by the shoulders and shook him. "Timothy's at the Abbey! He's sleeping in the nursery!"

The bedroom door opened, and Anna poked out her head. "What's happening? The neighbours will think someone's being murdered!"

The confusion was unbearable for Thomas. He took Bates' hand and clasped it over his ear.

"Everything's fine, Anna. Thomas thought Timothy was missing."

"The poor thing. John, remember what Dr Clarkson said. He's to eat every time he wakes up."

"I'll take care of it. Go back to bed, darling." Bates pulled his hand from Thomas' ear. He lit the lantern and retrieved a robe from the cupboard. "I brought a few things from your room so you'd be more comfortable. I'll bring more tomorrow." Bates helped Thomas into his robe. "Come sit by me, Pooh."

Thomas sat at the table and watched Bates fill two dishes with cornflakes and milk. Bates took a bite of his cereal, and Thomas took a bite of his. It had a pleasing crunch, and Thomas chewed it thoroughly before allowing the milk to wash it down his throat. It slid down easily, and Thomas took another bite.

Bates smiled broadly. "There you go, little brother." He patted Thomas' back and planted his hand at the base of Thomas' neck. Thomas had seen Bates do the same to Timothy many times.

Then the realization hit Thomas. _I'm Timothy! I should be sleeping in the little bed._ He dropped his spoon and hurried to the bed. It was low and narrow and short. Thomas sat and swung his legs onto the bed and pulled them up to his chest.

"Pooh, what are you doing?"

"Don't fit!"

"Why should you fit in Timothy's bed? Come back to the table."

"Bed!"

"You're being ridiculous!"

Thomas felt his cheeks grow hot. He pushed himself out of the bed and strode to the door.

"Pooh?"

Thomas opened the door and stepped outside. He heard Bates calling after him. _I don't need that man!_ He took another step, but the rustling of leaves made him jump. Perhaps it was the red-haired man with his awful jacket!

Bates was at his side, draping his arm around Thomas' shoulders. "I'm sorry, Pooh. I'm tired. I didn't mean it. Come inside. I can't protect you out here."

Thomas had forgotten. Bates protected him. Bates and Anna kept him safe. "Sorry," he muttered sheepishly.

Bates steered Thomas into the cottage and shut the door. "You're tired too. You're not yourself."

"Who am I?" begged Thomas, clutching the lapels of Bates robe. Bates stared, and Thomas dropped his head. He felt Bates' hands clasp his shoulders.

"Don't you know?" Bates asked gently. Thomas shook his head. Bates lifted Thomas' chin. "You're my friend. You're Thomas Barrow."

Thomas pulled away sharply. "No! Anyone but him!"

* * *

 **Patient Record: Thomas Barrow**

Thursday, June 2, 1927:

10.00 am phone conversation - patient's brother.

Brother administered sedative without patient's knowledge after I left yesterday afternoon. Patient slept 8 uninterrupted hours. Able to eat cornflakes. Patient's receptive communication markedly improved, but patient seldom speaks. Brother alarmed by patient's self-identity confusion. However, brother is not concerned about his son sleeping at home tonight.

* * *

 **The Path to the Bates Cottage**

 **Early that afternoon**

Bates struggled up the path with Thomas' bag and Mrs Patmore's hamper. The hamper handle broke loose at one end, and out fell the day's package of mending. "Blast!" Bates set down the hamper, and Thomas' bag plopped to the ground.

"Mr Bates! Mr Bates!" Bates turned and saw Miss Sybbie and little Molly Robinson running up the path towards him. "Please wait, Mr Bates," shouted Miss Sybbie. "We'll be back in one moment. You'll wait, won't you?"

"I'll wait, Miss Sybbie," shouted Bates. He stretched his cramped arms as he chuckled to himself. He approved of the friendship that had blossomed between Miss Sybbie and Molly after Mud Day. Miss Sybbie had begged Miss Petty to invite Molly to the Abbey and appealed to her father when Miss Petty rejected her request. Now Molly was a regular visitor. Thomas addressed her as Miss Molly and insisted that the staff do the same.

Bates turned and saw Miss Sybbie and Molly pulling a wooden coaster wagon up the path. "Good afternoon, Miss Sybbie, Miss Molly. What's this?"

"It's a wagon, Mr Bates. Isn't it wonderful? It was a gift from Papa." Now that Miss Sybbie had a governess, she addressed her father as Papa, not Daddy.

"Her name is painted on the front," added Molly shyly.

Bates examined the cart appreciatively. "So I see."

"You're to borrow it while Mr Barrow is incu ... incaperated."

"Incapacitated?"

"Yes, that's it."

"That's kind of you, Miss Sybbie, but perhaps you should ask your father's permission."

"I know Papa would agree." Miss Sybbie pointed to the hamper. "Look, Mr Bates. The handle's broken. The food will spoil before you can repair it."

Bates smiled. He knew better than to argue with the daughter of a Crawley. Besides, the wagon was a godsend. "I can't thank you enough Miss Sybbie. I know Mr Barrow will appreciate your generosity." Miss Sybbie and Molly eagerly loaded the wagon.

"Take these too, Mr Bates." Molly handed Bates two envelopes. "One's from me, and one's from Sybbie. They're drawings to cheer up Mr Barrow."

"That's just the thing to do it!" Mr Bates gave each girl a proper handshake and headed up the path pulling the wagon.

* * *

 **The Path to the Bates Cottage**

 **Late that night**

Timothy usually had to take giant steps to keep up with Dada, but not tonight. Tonight, he was riding up the path in a wagon. He rode with his back against the hamper that Dada brought home every night. The wagon bounced along the path, and Timothy held onto the sides and laughed until Dada turned around and held his finger to his lips.

Dada opened the door to the cottage and pulled Timothy from the wagon. Timothy ran inside and saw Uncle Pooh sitting at the table in his robe and pyjamas. "Unca Pooh! Unca Pooh! Up! Up!" Uncle Pooh's strong hands lifted Timothy onto his knee. Only Dada was stronger than Uncle Pooh. "Horsie! Horsie!" Uncle Pooh kept his hands around Timothy and bounced his knee. Timothy squealed with delight as his horse galloped wildly.

"That's enough, Timothy," commanded Mummy. "Uncle Pooh's tired tonight."

Uncle Pooh always obeyed Mummy and set Timothy on the floor. Timothy looked up at Uncle Pooh expecting the usual wink and smile, but Uncle Pooh was not smiling. Timothy yanked Uncle Pooh's sleeve, and Uncle Pooh bent down. "Lovie," declared Timothy and kissed Uncle Pooh's cheek. Then he laughed. Something was different. "Wotat?" he asked as he rubbed Uncle Pooh's cheek.

"Whiskers," replied Dada.

"Issies," repeated Timothy.

"Whiskers."

"Iskies!"

"It's time for bed, young man," Mummy reminded him.

"Unca Iskies!" Timothy squealed at his own joke as he toddled to bed.

* * *

 **The Bates Cottage**

 **Friday morning**

Anna watched her husband drag himself, half dead, out the door with Timothy for his morning at the Abbey. She was going to have to take charge or soon she would have two patients on her hands. Thomas had pulled a chair to the window and was sitting with his hand over his ear. He was wearing the same pyjamas in which he had arrived two days earlier. It simply would not do.

"Thomas, please bring your chair to the table." Thomas obediently dropped his hand from his ear and returned his chair. "Have a seat, sweetheart." Thomas sat and looked up expectantly, awaiting Anna's next request.

Anna sat next to Thomas and took his hand. "Pooh, do you remember the conversation John had with you this morning?" He gazed at her hand holding his and shrugged. "He told you that you must be brothers now so he can protect you. You must always say that you're brothers." Thomas nodded. "Did you understand him?" He nodded again.

"Pooh, if you're John's brother, then you're my brother-in-law." Thomas looked at Anna. "It's as though you're my brother, too, and I'm your sister." Anna was certain that Thomas smiled, if only for a moment, and she squeezed his hand.

"John needs our help, Pooh. Will you help him?" Thomas squirmed. "I'll tell you what to do every step of the way, Pooh. What do you say?" Thomas nodded. "John's trying to do too much, so we'll help him by taking care of everything here at the cottage. The first thing is for you to have a bath." Thomas pulled his bathrobe closed over his chest. "I'll wait in the bedroom, and you'll knock when you're done. How's that?" Thomas nodded. "Fine. Let's pick out some proper clothes for you. I've had enough of these pyjamas."

Thomas carried the tin tub into the kitchen where Anna helped him fill it. Anna kept her promise and waited in the bedroom with the door closed. She sat on the bed and began her day's mending. Thomas took quite a long time, and every so often she would call through the closed door, "Are you coming along?"

Thomas would answer, "Yes," so Anna knew, at least, that Thomas had not bolted. At last, Anna heard Thomas' knock. She opened the door, and there stood Thomas, smartly dressed in the clothes they had selected. "You," announced Thomas. Anna could see that Thomas had emptied and cleaned the tub and filled it again.

"That's fine, Thomas. I believe I shall." Thomas waited in the bedroom while Anna bathed. She and Bates typically bathed at the Abbey's servants' quarters where the updated facilities made it easier. Now that she was confined to the house, Bates had been dragging out the old tub for her and emptying and cleaning it. As of today, that would be one less thing for Bates to do.

Every few minutes, Thomas parroted Anna and called out, "Are you coming along?"

Each time, Anna laughed and answered, "Yes, sweetheart."


	78. A Delirious Puff

**Chapter 78: A DELIRIOUS PUFF**

* * *

 **Patient Record: Thomas Barrow**

Friday, June 3, 1927:

9.00 am, telephone consultation, Louis Webb, Staff Psychiatrist, West Riding Asylum, Wakefield.

Webb's opinion: Patient is suffering from a psychogenic psychosis, which is not indicative of a degenerative condition. Patient is 34 and has no prior history of psychoses in spite of suffering maltreatment as an adolescent and serving in the trenches. Webb believes patient will be able to resume normal activities within a few days to a few weeks and achieve a full recovery. Immediate concern is preventing self-harm.

Telephoned patient's employer and advised that recovery may take as long as one month. Employer shocked but willing to accommodate patient's needs.

* * *

 **Servants' Staircase**

 **That same morning**

"You look all in" observed Mrs Hughes as she and Bates walked upstairs to the library. "You won't be doing Mr Barrow any favours if you make yourself sick, Mr Bates."

"I appreciate your concern, Mrs Hughes, but it's unfounded. I'll be fine now that Anna and I have had a chance to adjust our routine."

Bates waited patiently by the library door while Mrs Hughes substituted for Thomas at the regular morning meeting with Lady Mary and whatever members of the family chose to be present.

Ten minutes later, Mrs Hughes reappeared at the door. "They're ready for you, Mr Bates." She straightened Bates' tie. "Take care of yourself," she ordered as she left to attend to her duties. Bates cleared his throat and entered the library.

"Thank you for being prompt, Bates," began Lady Mary.

"I beg Your Ladyship's pardon, but I didn't realize Mr Branson would be here. May I have a quick word?"

Tom grinned. "I know what this is about. Use the wagon as long as you need it."

"We appreciate Miss Sybbie's kindness."

"I appreciate the influence Barrow has on Miss Sybbie. Is he improving?"

"A bit, Mr Branson, but it will be a while before he's back to his old self."

"That's what I wanted to discuss," interrupted Lady Mary. "I appreciate that Barrow has become close to your family, Bates, but I believe he would be more comfortable recovering at the Abbey."

"What she means is that you should have asked her permission before moving him," remarked Henry without looking up from his newspaper.

"Hear, hear," agreed Lord Grantham. "What difference does it make where he recovers?"

Lady Mary did not like to be contradicted, especially in front of a servant. "I'm thinking of his comfort and your own, Bates. Isn't your cottage too small for another adult?"

"I don't want to be difficult, milady," began Bates, "but I have certain rights when it comes to making decisions for Mr Barrow while he's recovering."

"Rights? What in heaven's name are you saying?" asked Lady Mary impatiently.

Bates did not enjoy lying, but this was a lie he intended to wrestle into truth. "I know this will come as a surprise to you, and perhaps we should not have kept it a secret, but Mr Barrow and I are brothers ... half-brothers, that is."

All heads turned to Bates. Then Lady Mary laughed. "You're having us on!"

"No, milady." Bates proceeded to explain the fictitious circumstances that made Thomas his half-brother.

"Why did you keep it a secret?" demanded Lady Mary.

"We were estranged," confessed Bates. "I'm ashamed to say that I was jealous of my mother's second family and behaved badly toward my little brother."

"Barrow was hardly a prize in those days," recalled Lord Grantham. "Mary, you can't deny that Bates has a greater right than your own. Good god, Bates, half-brothers!" He laughed heartily. "Now it all makes sense!"

* * *

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

 **A few minutes later**

Bates sat behind the pantry desk with his and Thomas' notebooks opened side-by-side. _How does he do it? How does he get so much done?_ Bates was determined not to cancel the eclipse dance. He had to prove to himself that he could manage the business as well as Thomas or Anna.

A knock sounded at the door, and Bates looked up to see Minnie. "Do you have a moment, Mr Bates?"

"If it won't take too long. I'm meeting with Dr Clarkson."

Minnie closed the door. "It won't take long, John. I only wanted to ask ... John ... was it my fault?"

"Was what your fault?"

"Thomas' condition."

"Minnie, no! Of course not!"

"No? You're so certain?"

"Sit down, Minnie, please." Bates watched sympathetically as Minnie sank into a chair. "Now tell me, how much did you want the children that you and Thomas planned?"

"More than I've ever wanted anything," Minnie answered sincerely.

"As much as you wanted those children, Thomas wanted them tenfold. I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't named them already and knew each child's likes and dislikes, they were that real to him."

"I didn't realize. So ... it's as though he's grieving for them now."

Bates paused to consider Minnie's words. "I hadn't thought of it, but I believe you're right."

"Are you angry that I called the doctor?"

"No. You did what you thought was in Thomas' best interest, as did I." Bates stood and tucked his notebook into his pocket. "I'd better go. I don't want to keep Dr Clarkson waiting. Minnie ..."

"Yes?"

"I appreciate your not saying anything about Thomas' condition. The doctor told the family that he's suffering from exhaustion. That's not difficult to believe considering everything he accomplishes."

"John ... should I give my notice?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"No, but if it will make things easier for Thomas ..."

"If you're asking my opinion, Minnie, then I say, wait until Thomas is well and work it out with him. It may upset him to return to work and find you gone."

"I wouldn't have been able to make him happy without children, you know that, John, but ... I ..."

"I understand, Minnie. We'll take good care of him."

* * *

 **Dr Clarkson's Office**

 **An hour later**

"Can he truly recover so quickly?" asked Bates after hearing Webb's prognosis.

"Mr Barrow has a type of psychosis that's rather uncommon but recovery generally takes no more than a month. The patient has no prior psychotic history and typically is about Mr Barrow's age. When I first practiced medicine, the French called it, _bouffée délirante_ , but that's gone out-of-fashion."

" _Bouffée délirante_?"

"Delirious puff. The modern term is psychogenic psychosis. The patient's break from reality is sudden and severe and usually follows a difficult event, such as the death of a loved one."

"Or loved ones who were never born?"

"You're referring to Mr Barrow's infertility? Yes, it's possible. Are you aware of any other recent emotional events?"

Bates sat back in his chair and tried to clear his mind. He thought back, day-by-day. "Yes. Thomas received a sizable inheritance from a man named ... Alfie ... Alfie Reynolds. I asked if they had been friends, and Thomas became enraged."

Dr Clarkson flipped back a couple of pages in Thomas' record. "Alfie Reynolds. Here it is."

"You know who he was?"

"He helped Mr Barrow obtain his first position in service when he was thirteen ... the position where he suffered so much brutality."

"Brutality? What do you mean brutality? Did this Alfie Reynolds beat him?"

The doctor looked up from his records. "You didn't know your brother back then, did you, Mr Bates?"

"No. We met when I came to work at the Abbey."

"And he never told you about his prior position."

"No. He tells me a great deal, but he won't speak of those years."

"I'm sorry, Mr Bates, but if Mr Barrow has withheld that information, then I'm not free to speak of it."

* * *

 **The Path to the Bates' Cottage**

 **Early that afternoon**

Bates walked up the path pulling the wagon behind him. He could not stop wondering what Dr Clarkson had meant by brutality. Bates had worked as a footman before he joined the Army and had heard tales of cruelty from retainers who began their careers as children. He was sickened to think of what Thomas might have suffered.

Bates opened the cottage door and was struck by the changed atmosphere. The bedding had been stripped from the sofa and was sitting in a tidy bundle by the door, waiting to be taken to the Abbey laundry. Thomas was dressed and sitting at the table with Anna, who was mending the hem of an evening wrap. Thomas was sewing a button to a shirt cuff.

As soon as Bates appeared, Anna nodded to Thomas. Thomas took the hamper from the wagon and brought it to the table, where he began to unpack the contents. When Bates tried to help, Thomas pushed away his hand. "No. Nap."

Anna laughed. "You're to take a nap before lunch, darling. You're not getting enough sleep at night."

Bates threw up his hands. "I can see I'm outnumbered."

"Nap," repeated Thomas, pulling off Bates' coat.

"Don't let me sleep too long, Pooh."

"Nap."

Bates retreated to the bedroom, stripped to his underclothes, and crawled between the cool sheets. _I'll close my eyes for a few ..._ and he was asleep.

Bates was awakened by the sensation of something touching his face. He swatted at it and felt a hand. He opened his eyes to the sight of Thomas sitting on the edge of the bed and tracing his finger along the side of Bates' face. Bates gazed at Thomas' relaxed features. Even in his unshaven state, Thomas was a handsome man. _Brutality_. The word returned to Bates and made him shiver, prompting Thomas to bring him his clothes. He pulled on his trousers and watched Thomas holding his shirt. He could see behind the whiskers and the broad shoulders. He could see the little boy who tugged so mercilessly at his heart. He desperately wanted to elicit a smile from his little brother and playfully ran his hand across Thomas' cheek. "Iskies."

"Lunch," replied Thomas.

* * *

 **Patient Record: Thomas Barrow**

Monday, June 6:

10.30 am phone conversation - patient's brother.

Patient eats eggy bread now, which he has learned to prepare for himself, as well as soups and stews. Sleeps fairly well at night and takes a nap in the afternoon. Responds to questions with phrases and short sentences but does not initiate conversation. Patient's sister-in-law enforces a structured routine which patient finds comforting. Yesterday was the first day patient did not engage in episodes of holding his hand over his ear (the intended purpose of which is unknown).

Patient refuses to light the stove or lantern himself although he does not seem to be afraid of the fire once someone else lights it. He also refuses to cut food that requires a sharp knife or to use his razor. Patient lacks confidence in his ability to function safely in his world.

Brother expressed anxiety that patient does not smile or laugh, even when patient plays with his nephew.

* * *

 **The Bates Cottage**

 **The next morning**

Thomas was taking his morning bath when Anna called from the bedroom, "Don't refill the tub for me, sweetheart. I'll have to bathe later."

"Right." Thomas tried to focus on one thing at a time. When he tried to think ahead, thoughts crowded his brain more quickly than he could manage them. He finished bathing, cleaned the tub, and put it away. As soon as he finished dressing, he knocked on the bedroom door.

Anna opened the door wearing her robe. "My waters have broken."

"You mean the pitcher?"

"No, sweetheart. I mean the baby's coming today."

"It's too soon! John's not here!"

"Thomas, calm yourself this instant! Sit down."

Thomas sat as instructed. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Anna brought paper and pencil to the table. "You have only one thing to do, Pooh. I'm going to write a note, and you're going to take it to the Abbey."

"I can't leave you alone."

"Don't worry, Pooh. The baby's not coming right now."

"I haven't shaved."

"You're on holiday. No one will care. Here's the note. Can you read my writing?"

Thomas read the note. It stated that Anna was in labour and asked that John be sent home with a woman from the Abbey and that Dr Clarkson be telephoned. "Anna, John will be angry if I leave you alone."

"John has no say when it comes to giving birth. You won't let me down will you?"

"No ... I won't let you down."

"Wear your coat, and please, don't fall and have another concussion."

Thomas grabbed his coat. "I didn't fall. I was pushed!"

Anna laughed. "Well, I'm not going to push you but please hurry. You're about to be an uncle again."

"Oh!" Thomas shoved the note in his pocket and rushed out the door.

"Don't forget to say, _my Lord_ and _milady_ ," Anna shouted after him.

Thomas flew down the path and saw a man waving to him as he approached the Abbey.

"Barrow, is that you?" shouted Lord Grantham. Thomas ran toward him. "You're looking well, Barrow. I hope you plan to shave before returning to work."

"I need a woman!"

"What?"

"I need a woman ... my ... Lord!"

Lord Grantham tilted up the brim of his hat. "Well, now I've heard everything."

"It's on the note!" Thomas held out the note for His Lordship to read.

Lord Grantham pulled his reading glasses from his pocket and took the note from Thomas. "I sent Bates to the village. I'll fetch him with the car and bring him straight to the cottage. Give the note to Mrs Hughes. Either she or Miss Baxter may sit with Anna."

"No. They don't have babies ... my Lord."

"What? Oh, you mean they've never given birth. I see your point, Barrow. Come with me."

The two men walked to the house and entered the parlour together.

The Dowager took one look at Thomas and exclaimed, "Gracious! It's a jungle man!"

Lady Merton turned to see. "Barrow, this is a surprise!"

"Please, Cousin Isobel, we're here on business," admonished Lord Grantham with a wink. "Anna's in labour."

"I see. How exciting."

"Will Lady Merton do, Barrow? She's a nurse and a mother."

Thomas strode directly to Lady Merton. "The dam's broken, milady!"

Lady Merton gazed at Thomas quizzically. Then she smiled. "Do you mean her waters have broken?"

"Yes, that's it. Are you coming, milady?" Thomas demanded.

Lord Grantham laughed indulgently. "Do you mind, Isobel?"

"I'd be delighted. There's nothing as wonderful as bringing new life into the world."

"Fine. I'll drive to the village and find Bates. Mama, would you have Andrew ring Dr Clarkson?"

"I'll ring him myself."

"You'll escort me to the Bates' Cottage, won't you Barrow," asked Lady Merton. "I've never been there."

"Yes, milady."

Lady Merton and Thomas proceeded up the path to the cottage. "You're aware that I work at the hospital and am familiar with Dr Clarkson's patients, Barrow."

"Yes, milady."

"Dr Clarkson's mentioned your case to me in strictest confidence. I understand your situation, Barrow. You needn't worry. I won't say a word."

"Thank you, milady. I won't say a word either."


	79. Sir Thomas

**Chapter 79: SIR THOMAS**

 **Later that morning**

 **The Bench Near The Bates Cottage**

Thomas was standing behind the bench and staring at the cottage. "What if Anna needs us?"

Bates chuckled. "Sit down, Pooh. This is one time Anna has no use for us." Thomas sat and watched as Bates rhythmically tapped the rim of his shoe with Old Ram.

"John ...?"

"Yes?"

"I can never be a father."

This was the first time Thomas had ever mentioned his infertility, and it caught Bates off guard. "I know, Pooh. I'm sorry." Bates gave Thomas' hand a squeeze. Perhaps the birth of his child was intensifying Thomas' sense of loss.

"Do you think it's a punishment?" asked Thomas.

"What?"

"Am I being punished for the kind of man I was?"

Bates was shocked. "Certainly not! Do you think my walking with a cane is a punishment?"

"That's different," Thomas answered softly. "That was war."

"None of us is a saint, little brother. Should we all be punished?"

Thomas stared at his shoes and shrugged.

"How old were you when we met, little brother ... nineteen?"

"Yes."

"A boy of nineteen. And what did I do?"

"I don't know."

"I bullied you."

"No, John ... _I_ was the bully."

"We were a couple of bullies, then, but I was in my thirties and knew better. I shouldn't have let you bait me. I should have tried to be a friend to you."

"I wouldn't have let you."

"We'll never know, will we. I didn't even try." Bates began to tap his shoe again.

"John ...?"

"Yes?"

"Am I as mad as a March hare?"

Bates searched Thomas' face for a hint that he was teasing but was disappointed. "I won't lie to you, Pooh. I thought I had lost you, and it was frightening. Yet here you sit, speaking to me as sanely as any man." Bates kept his thoughts to himself. _This solemn, tentative man is not my Thomas. Where's my mischievous little brother?_

"Then you believe I'm sane?"

"Yes," Bates answered truthfully. "Not fully recovered but as sane as I am."

"John, your family means a great deal to me."

Bates met Thomas' gaze. "It means a great deal to hear you say it, little brother."

"I have money now, John. I have that inheritance."

Bates laughed. "I know, Pooh. All you need is a title. _Sir Thomas_."

"John, your children are to be my heirs."

Bates was not prepared for this turn of conversation. "I don't know what to say, Pooh ... but ... you don't need to decide that now. You're a young man."

"Anything can happen, John. Think of my mother ... my sister ... Lady Sybil ..." Bates watched as Thomas suddenly leapt to his feet and ran to the cottage.

* * *

Thomas threw open the cottage door in time to hear Anna's groan from the bedroom. He knew that sound ... the sound of a contraction. He bit his lip and waited. When he thought sufficient time had passed, he called through the bedroom door, "Are you coming along?"

Thomas pressed his ear to the door and heard Anna's reply, "Yes, Thomas." Thomas knew she was addressing him more formally because Lady Merton and Dr Clarkson were there.

" _Strawberries_ , Anna," he called, hoping she would understand.

" _Strawberries_ , Thomas."

* * *

 **A while later**

Thomas and Bates were seated at the table, attending to Anna's mending while they waited. Bates was reattaching the lining of a dinner jacket, and Thomas was repairing an open seam in a shirt. Thomas was not as adept as Anna or Bates, whose jobs required them to sew most days, but he endeavoured to produce uniform stitches. He wanted Anna to be pleased.

The bedroom door opened without ceremony, and Dr Clarkson stepped into the parlour. "Mr Bates, I believe your daughter would like to meet you."

"A daughter! Did you hear that, Pooh? You were right!" Bates clapped Thomas on the back and hurried into the bedroom.

"Dr Clarkson, is Anna all right?" Thomas asked anxiously.

"She's fine, Mr Barrow." The doctor smiled. "The baby's almost as big as her mother, but Mrs Bates is a determined woman."

Lady Merton poked her head out the door. "Anna is asking for you, Barrow."

Thomas allowed Lady Merton to pass and stepped inside the bedroom. He paused at the door. Bates had kicked off his shoes and was sitting against the headboard with his arm around Anna. The baby was on Anna's lap. Suddenly Thomas knew himself to be an interloper. "Shall I bring you anything, Anna?" he asked, looking for an excuse to leave the couple alone to enjoy their little girl.

"Yes. Bring yourself over here to meet your niece, sweetheart."

Thomas hesitated. Perhaps Anna was only being polite.

"Pooh, don't keep my little darling waiting," chided Bates.

Thomas tiptoed to the bed and peeked at the baby. She was much larger than Timothy had been. "She's a hardy thing, isn't she?"

"That she is," boasted Bates.

Thomas studied the baby more closely. She had Bates' dark hair and thoughtful hazel eyes. When he met the baby's gaze, he was mesmerized. She exuded an intelligence he had never seen in a baby. "What's her name?"

"Emilia Quinn Bates," answered Anna. "Emilia was my grandmother's name."

"And Quinn was my mother's name," added Bates. "You would have liked my mother, Pooh. She was a kind woman and clever too. She taught me to waltz."

"She _must_ have been clever," remarked Thomas. Bates laughed heartily, but Thomas didn't know why.

* * *

 **Patient Record: Thomas Barrow**

Wednesday, June 8:

10.00 am phone conversation - patient's brother.

Patient speaks normally. Initiates limited casual conversation. Excited by birth of niece yesterday. Carried infant. Recited nursery rhymes. Sang songs. Spoke to infant about future plans. Asked brother to bring home his notebook - patient contemplating a return to work?

Extreme anxieties persist. Slept all night on floor next to cradle - possible reaction to anxiety over sister-in-law's well-being during childbirth? Still refuses to light a fire or use razor.

* * *

 **That afternoon**

 **The Dower House**

Timothy watched as Sybbie gave George a boost so he could strike the doorknocker. The Dower House was not as large as the Abbey. It was more of a tiny castle. Perhaps a tiny king would come to the door.

The door was opened not by a tiny king but by an ordinary man. The man scowled and left the three children by the door while he disappeared into the house. Timothy wanted to run back to the Abbey until Sybbie whispered, "The butler's a bit unpleasant, but you'll like Granny."

The butler returned, still scowling. "Follow me." Timothy took giant steps to keep up with the others. The butler opened the door to a room where two women were sitting. Timothy thought that this must be a _milady house_ , a house where the women who lived upstairs were to be addressed as milady. The Abbey was a milady house, and Nanny had drilled Timothy regularly until he could say milady correctly.

Sybbie took care of the greetings. "Good afternoon, Granny, Cousin Isobel." Timothy stared at Granny. He had never seen so many wrinkles.

Timothy stood quietly while Granny gave him the once over. "This is a surprise, Sybbie. Won't you have a seat?" She turned to the butler. "Spratt, kindly bring some milk and biscuits for the children."

George and Sybbie hoisted Timothy onto the sofa and sat on either side of him. "I beg your pardon, Granny," apologized Sybbie. "I forgot the introductions."

"Yes you did, my dear. No matter. You'll improve with practice. You may proceed."

"Granny, Cousin Isobel, may I have the pleasure of introducing Timothy Bates. He's Mr Bates' son."

Granny nodded slightly. "How do you do, Timothy."

Cousin Isobel smiled. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Timothy."

Timothy bobbed his head up and down. "Milady, milady, milady, milady!"

Granny turned to Cousin Isobel. "I approve of a young man with proper manners."

Cousin Isobel smiled. "Indeed."

Granny turned her attention to Sybbie. "That was a promising beginning, my dear. In the future, you may introduce me as Lady Grantham and Cousin Isobel as Lady Merton. Now tell me, is this a social call?"

"Oh no, Granny," replied Sybbie. "We're here on business."

"Business?"

Sybbie pointed to the badge that Timothy was wearing. She and George had cut it from cardboard and pinned it to Timothy's shirt that morning. Timothy held it out proudly so Granny and Cousin Isobel could get a closer look. "Timothy became a big brother, yesterday."

"He's collecting the big brother tax, Granny," added George. He held out the box he had been carrying for Timothy.

Cousin Isobel laughed. "I recall giving George a red pencil last year when Katherine was born. Barrow put him up to this tax business."

Granny nodded. "That sounds like Barrow."

Spratt returned and set a tray on the table. The tray held three glasses of milk and a platter of exquisitely iced biscuits. Timothy was dazzled. "Danku!"

"He means thank you, Spratt," interpreted Sybbie.

Spratt ignored the children and addressed Granny. "Will that be all, milady?" he asked. Timothy noticed that the butler did not scowl in front of Granny.

"Ask Denker to bring me my button box. She knows where it is." Granny nodded towards the tray. "You may help yourself, children."

Sybbie spread a napkin on Timothy's lap and handed him a small plate. She held up the platter and Timothy carefully selected the most lavishly iced biscuit and placed it in the centre of his plate to admire. "Danku."

"Timothy, did your mother give you a brother or a sister?" inquired Granny politely.

"Sis, milady."

"A lovely little thing," commented Cousin Isobel. "I assisted with the delivery."

"Of course you did," replied Granny.

Timothy did not think his sister was especially lovely. The biscuit on his plate was much lovelier.

"What is your sister's name, Timothy?"

"Emmy, milady."

"Emilia Quinn," clarified Sybbie.

Sybbie picked up her biscuit and nodded to Timothy as she took a bite. Timothy thought it was a shame to eat something so beautiful, but it had to be done. He picked up his biscuit and took a bite, holding his plate underneath to catch any crumbs as Nanny had taught him. He held the bite in his mouth until the sweet icing melted and oozed onto his tongue. It was delightful!

Timothy happily enjoyed his biscuit while Sybbie, and occasionally George, kept up the conversation with Granny and Cousin Isobel. When Timothy's plate was empty, Sybbie took it and replaced it with a glass of milk. Timothy gripped the glass tightly with both hands and took small sips as he had been taught.

Soon a woman appeared and handed a small wooden box to Granny. "Thank you, Denker." Granny opened the box and removed two large buttons. "I believe this will satisfy my debt," she declared as she dropped the buttons into the box George held.

"Danku, milady!"

"They look like medals!" exclaimed George.

"They're only buttons from my husband's uniform," explained Granny. "Even a mere button was more splendid in my day."

* * *

 **Friday, early afternoon**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Thomas loved this time of day at the cottage. He would sit on the edge of the bed and gaze at Bates for a few peaceful moments before waking him gently for lunch. First he would trace the crinkle lines next to Bates' eyes. How Thomas loved those lines. Then he would trace down Bates' cheek to his mouth. He traced with his fingers but imagined using his lips.

Bates would open his eyes and lay quietly for a bit. Sometimes he would smile, deepening the crinkles and making Thomas' heart sing. Then he would toss back the bed covers and the spell would be broken.

"How was your morning, Pooh?" asked Bates while he pulled on his trousers.

"I change the baby's nappies now."

"Do you?" Bates wanted to be a modern father, but he was as likely to change nappies as he was to breastfeed. He had never changed Timothy and expected to repeat that accomplishment with Emilia. Still, he was glad that Thomas was making life easier for Anna.

"John ...?"

"Mmm ...?"

"Do you think Emilia dislikes me?"

"Why in heaven's name would you think that, Pooh."

"When I pick her up and I talk or sing, she's fine. But when I kiss her cheek, she cries. She doesn't cry when you or Anna kiss her."

Bates laughed and patted Thomas' cheek. "That's because we don't have iskies, Sir Thomas!"


	80. Committing Ink to Form

**Chapter 80: COMMITTING INK TO FORM**

 **Three Days Later**

 **The Bates Cottage**

hungry ... _whimper_... fuzzy face ... WRONG FACE ... want milk face ... _BAWL_ ... milk face right face ... long hair tickles face ... high voice ... HURRY ... _HOWL_... shawl ... darkness ... warm breast ... milk milk milk milk ... sleep ...

soggy stinging ... _yowl_ ... new face ... WRONG FACE ... want fuzzy face ... _WAIL_ ... deep voice ... face sings ... _sniff_ ... right voice wrong face... confused ... singing face no fuzz ... powder powder ... face sings ... lips to face ... warm no fuzz ... shoulder ... bounce bounce bounce ... sleep ...

bored ... _fuss_ ... singing face right face ... face talks patterns ... dock clock dock ... pleasing patterns ... pouring snoring morning ... warm lips to face ... shoulder ... bounce bounce bounce ... face sings ... bounce bounce bounce ... sleep ...

HUNGRY ... _SCREAM_ ... milk face right face ... milk face talks ... HURRY ... _SHRIEK_ ... shawl ... warm breast ... milk milk milk milk ... shoulder ... pat pat pat ... _burp_ ... warm lips to face ... shoulder ... sleep ...

too much light ... too much talking ... _mewl_ ... singing face ... WRONG FACE ... want comfort face ... HOWL ... comfort face right face ... favourite face ... deep voice ... warm lips to face ... soft belly ... belly for napping ... soft warm belly ... sleep ...

rattle rattle ... open eyes ... rattle rattle ... curly hair ... always rattle rattle ... high voice ... "emmy emmy emmy" ... curly hair always "emmy emmy emmy" ... emmy ... what does it mean? ...

* * *

 **The next night**

Timothy was being difficult, but Anna knew she could count on Thomas to handle him. Thomas settled him in bed by allowing him to sleep with the old cricket ball Lord Grantham had given him in payment of the big brother tax. He agreed to close his eyes if he could have a song, so Thomas sang.

 _A Frog he would a-wooing go,_  
 _Heigho, says Rowley!_  
 _Whether his Mother would let him or no._  
 _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,_  
 _Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!_

 _So off he set with his opera-hat,_  
 _Heigho, says Rowley!_  
 _And on his way he met with a Rat._  
 _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,_  
 _Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!_

 _"Pray, Mr Rat, will you go with me,"_  
 _Heigho, says Rowley!_  
 _"Pretty Miss Mousey for to see?"_  
 _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,_  
 _Heigho, says Anthony Rowley! ..._

"He's asleep," reported Thomas as he joined John and Anna at the table.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Anna filled Thomas' cup with cocoa and placed a biscuit on his saucer.

"He didn't last half the song."

"Good! The songs you sing have such gruesome endings. Doesn't a cat eat the frog and his friends?"

"Only his friends." Thomas dipped the biscuit in his cocoa. "A duck eats the frog."

"What's the difference? Either way, it's ghastly," insisted Anna.

Bates set down his cup. "A duck doesn't have any teeth, my darling. That's the difference. The duck swallows the frog whole."

"John, that's dreadful!" chided Anna, but she could not help laughing. She held out the platter of biscuits. "One more?"

"No, thank you, Anna," replied Bates patting his belly. "I've had an elegant sufficiency."

"You won't stay up too late, will you, John? You have so little time for sleep. It worries me."

Bates pulled Anna close. "It's a temporary situation," he whispered and kissed her cheek. "There's no need for you to be worrying."

"Anna, don't let John go to bed without seeing the dress you sketched today," prompted Thomas. "It's splendid, John. It could be straight from the pages of _Vogue_."

"Thank you, Pooh, but John isn't interested in my drawings."

"That's not true, Anna," protested Bates. "You're not interested in my opinion."

"Your opinion? You said that sketching was a nice little hobby for a woman."

John threw up his hands. "Was I wrong? Tell me, Pooh, was I?"

"John, these sketches aren't a hobby for Anna. She has true talent."

"What do you mean?" Bates' voice softened. "Anna, why didn't you say?"

"I believe I _may_ have talent, John. I _may_ be wrong."

John took Anna's hand. "I'd like to see the sketch, Anna. Won't you show me?"

"I don't know, John. You're expecting too much now."

"I'm not expecting anything, my darling. I want to see what's important to you."

Anna withdrew the sketch from the cabinet where she kept her sewing things. She made certain the table was dry and set the drawing in front of Bates. He examined the sketch for several moments before he spoke. "Thomas is right. It does look like it belongs in Vogue."

"But do you like it?" asked Anna.

"I do, Anna. It's elegant. Not too fussy. I don't know enough to say more, except ..."

"Except ...?"

"Except, shouldn't you create the actual dress? It looks like something Lady Mary would enjoy wearing."

"Does it, John?" Anna threw her arms around Bates and kissed him. "I'd have to make my own pattern. I've never done that before."

"Perhaps we could purchase pattern paper wholesale," suggested Thomas. "I'll write Glads. The costume mistress for her theatre will know how to go about it. Then you could use as much paper as you need to create the pattern. You could make the dress first from paper and then from muslin. If Lady Mary likes the sketch and the muslin, she'll buy whatever fabric you want for a finished dress."

Anna was doubtful. "You make it sound simple, Pooh."

Bates stood and began clearing the table. "If it's important to you, then jump in and do it, my darling."

Thomas rolled up his sleeves to wash the dishes. "I'll write Glads first thing tomorrow, Anna."

Anna picked up the sketch and imagined Lady Mary wearing the finished dress. _What's the worst that could happen?_

Thomas clasped Anna's arm, bent down from his lofty height, and whispered, "Strawberries, Anna."

Anna gazed at Thomas' soft blue eyes, filled to the brim with confidence in her. "Strawberries, Pooh."

* * *

 **Several hours later**

Thomas was familiar with Emilia's signals, and he recognized the fussing that woke him. She wanted entertainment. He lit the lamp and rescued her from the tedium of her cradle. With her lying on his lap facing him, he sat back comfortably on the sofa and recited the nursery rhymes he was certain were her favourites. He was enchanted by Emilia's intelligent gaze. He left off the rhymes and told her about their plans to cross the ocean and settle in the states where she could be anything she wanted, even a doctor.

"What propaganda is this?" Thomas looked up to see Bates shuffling from the bedroom and quietly closing the door. "What are you telling my little darling?"

"Your little darling is no ordinary baby. Look at those eyes. They know everything."

Bates smiled indulgently. "Parents always believe their children are exceptional." Thomas' heart swelled with pride; Bates thought of him as a parent. Bates sat on the sofa and draped his arm around Thomas' shoulders so that Emilia could see them both. "Here are the men in your life, my little darling. Do we meet with your approval?"

Thomas had never been so filled with contentment. "Your little darling is going to think her daddy has two heads," he joked.

"But what handsome heads!" responded Bates. Thomas laughed blissfully, and Bates gave him a squeeze.

"John ... it's time I returned to work. I feel ready."

"I'm glad to hear it, Pooh. I'll speak to Dr Clarkson tomorrow morning." Emilia was gripping Bates' finger, and he leaned forward to kiss her tiny fingers.

"How am I ever going to face Minnie?"

Bates sat up again. "You'll face her like the man I know you to be. I have a suggestion that may make things easier."

"What's that?"

"I could ask Minnie to stop by tomorrow afternoon. You could clear the air with her before you start back to work."

"Yes ... that would be better." Emilia began to fuss. "I'm sorry, darling. Do you want another rhyme?

I have seen you, little mouse,  
Running all about the house,  
Through the hole your little eye  
In the wainscot peeping sly,  
Hoping soon some crumbs to steal,  
To make quite a hearty meal.  
Look before you venture out,  
See if pussy is about. ..."

Bates interrupted the recitation. "She's asleep, Pooh. So ... does the cat eat the mouse in this one?"

Thomas chuckled. "No, not in this one. I should save this one for Anna."

Bates yawned and leaned back. "Pooh, are you aware that there's something you've forgotten to do the entire time you've been here?"

Thomas was dismayed. Had Anna complained about him? He had done his best to be useful to her. Or perhaps he had annoyed Bates. "No ... what did I forget?" he asked anxiously.

"Anna tells me that you haven't smoked once."

Thomas was stunned. "Haven't I? Imagine that! I never realized."

Bates yawned again. "It would please Anna if you didn't take it up again."

"Why should I? It's a waste of money, and it's beginning to make me short of breath when I run up the stairs, just as you said."

Bates smiled and closed his eyes. "I'll give you a tin of mints tomorrow."

Bates' head bobbed once and fell to Thomas' cheek. Thomas felt Bates lean heavily against him, and it was heaven. He matched Bates' slowing breaths and imagined their hearts were beating in unison. He closed his eyes to luxuriate in the sensation but was afraid of falling asleep and Emilia slipping from his lap. He attempted to wake Bates as he did from his afternoon naps, by tracing the crinkle lines on Bates' face, but Bates did not stir. "John," Thomas cooed softly, "You must go back to bed."

Bates managed to open his eyes to a squint and stretched his legs. "You gave me such a fright, Pooh," he murmured.

"I'm sorry, John, but you need to go back to bed."

"No ... before."

"Before?"

"When you left the Abbey and I found your shoes and your coat. I thought I had lost you, Pooh."

Thomas smoothed Bates' hair away from his face. "Go to bed, Bonnie John. You're not going to lose me. I would never desert my family."

* * *

 **Patient Record: Thomas Barrow**

Monday, June 13, 1927:

9.00 am, phone conversation - patient's brother.

Patient's fear of handling sharp objects or fire has dissipated. Expressed desire to return to work. Brother described personality as "close to normal" and asked for my confirmation. Will visit home later this morning.

Reminded brother that Webb believes a future psychotic event is unlikely but not impossible. Recommended brother prepare for possibility by obtaining birth certificates to prove his biological relationship to patient.

11.30 am, home visit (brother's home)

Patient presented no symptoms of prior condition. Spirited, comfortable, articulate. Apparent full recovery as Webb predicted. Recommended half day for first day back to work. Will advise employer of same.

* * *

 **Late afternoon**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Minnie knocked and tried once more to settle her butterflies. She was greeted by Thomas ... _her_ Thomas, not the drawn and droopy man she had feared would answer the door.

"It's good to see you, Minnie. Come inside and we'll have a cup of tea and a bit of a natter."

"You're looking well, Thomas. Much better than I expected."

Thomas chuckled. "I can imagine what you were expecting. No need to worry, Minnie. I've passed muster with Dr Clarkson. I'm not a loony." He laughed. "Not any longer."

"Thomas, I only meant ..."

"It's fine, Minnie. I know what you meant." Thomas pulled out a chair at the table. "Have a seat, Minnie. I already have the kettle on."

Minnie accepted the seat. "Where's Anna?"

Thomas poured water from the kettle to the teapot to warm it. "Anna's taken the baby out for her airing. I usually go with them, but John told me to expect you."

"Please tell Anna I'm sorry I missed her. I can't wait to meet Emilia."

"You'll be able to meet her soon in the nursery. Anna's anxious to return to the Abbey and do something ... _anything_ besides mending."

"I can imagine."

Thomas set out two cups and saucers. " _I'll_ be back to work tomorrow ... only a half day ... doctor's order."

"I'm glad to hear it, Thomas." Minnie felt the butterflies breaking free from her stomach and threatening to fly out her mouth. "Everyone will be relieved. You've been sorely missed."

"That's kind of you to say, Minnie." Thomas emptied the pot and counted out spoonfuls of tea leaves and added boiling water from the kettle. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you've kept silent about my true condition. One word could have ruined me."

"Why wouldn't I keep silent?" demanded Minnie.

"What?"

Minnie calmed herself. "I'm sorry. It's only that John said ... is it true, Thomas ... did you truly believe that I was trying to poison you? You must know that I would never want to hurt you."

"I do know, Minnie." Thomas retrieved milk from the ice box. "Perhaps it was easier for me to believe that you were trying to hurt me than for me to face my hurting you."

"You've never hurt me, Thomas. Our broken engagement hurt, but that wasn't your doing."

Thomas sat next to Minnie and took her hand. "Minnie, I took your virginity and then couldn't keep my promise to give you children."

"But that wasn't your fault. The possibility never occurred to either of us. And you didn't take my virginity, Thomas. I gave it to you!"

Thomas laughed heartily. "You haven't changed, Minnie, and I hope you never do." Minnie studied Thomas' relaxed manner. There was something different about him ... an easiness she did not recognize. Thomas moved closer and put his arm around her shoulders. "Minnie, we have to settle this. It's no small thing that I compromised you."

"This again?"

"You're dear to me, Minnie, and I must do the right thing."

"The right thing? What could that be?"

"If you still want to marry me, Minnie, then I'll get down on one knee and propose, the same as before."

"Thomas, what on earth ..."

"Please, Minnie, allow me to finish. If it's what you want, you may have my name and my lifelong companionship. But if you meet the man who was meant for you, then you may divorce me for any grounds you desire, and I shall cooperate."

Minnie was shocked. How easy it would be to say the truth. She loved Thomas. She ached for him. "Thomas ... do you _want_ to marry me?"

"I can think of worse things."

Minnie stared at Thomas for a moment and then threw back her head and laughed. "Now that's a romantic proposal!"

"Oh! I didn't mean ..."

"Of course you meant it, sweetheart."

"Minnie ... I'm not certain what you're saying."

"I'm saying that I love you, Thomas Barrow. I love you far too much to force you into a marriage that would make you unhappy. You'll have to forgive me, darling. The best I can do is to give you your freedom."

"Are you certain, Minnie?"

"No, Thomas, I'm not certain. You must promise me never to ask again because next time I may not be able to resist."

"I'm being serious, Minnie."

"So am I, Thomas. Promise me."

"Very well, Minnie. If that's what you want, then I promise."

Minnie kissed Thomas' cheek. "That's fine then. We'll have our tea, and then I better get on. We'll have to get everything ready for your inspection tomorrow, _Mr Barrow_."

Thomas collected the sugar bowl and the tea strainer. "Minnie ... we're still friends, aren't we? We were great friends before ... before all this."

"We're still great friends, Thomas. It may be awkward at first, but we've had moments more awkward than this, haven't we?"

Thomas' cheeks reddened before he chuckled and replied, "That we have, Minnie, that we have."

* * *

 **Early the next morning**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Bates had managed to dress and leave the cottage early without waking anyone. Now he was sitting at Thomas' desk trying to get the books in order. The balance book, the cheque book, the bills, and all the ledgers lay in disarray. Bates had been so busy during the last two weeks that he never prepared the closing balance for May, and here it was the middle of June. He was trying to complete the task before Thomas arrived but was out-of-balance and could not find the error. He rubbed his eyes and began again.

Bates heard footsteps and looked up to see Thomas open and close the door. "John, why did you leave so early without waking me?"

The jig was up. Bates had no choice but to confess. "I wanted the books to be in order when you returned, but May won't balance."

Thomas proceeded to pick up and examine the various books and papers, dropping each where he found it. He gazed at Bates intently and leaned against the desk next to the chair. "John, I'm going to ask you a question, and I beg you to be honest with me."

"What is it?"

"Did you do this deliberately so I would think that you and Mrs Hughes couldn't manage without me?"

Bates was annoyed. He did not drag himself out of bed in the middle of the night to be accused. "Give me some credit. Don't you think I would have been a bit more subtle than _this_?" he asked, pointing to the chaos that had beaten him.

"Then this was the best you could do?"

Bates was too exhausted to be defensive. "Yes, Pooh. This was my best."

Thomas clapped Bates on the back. "So, I truly am necessary!" Thomas began laughing. Bates didn't understand why and supposed he should be insulted, but he felt his heart lift. He felt as though he were floating on Thomas' laughter. Thomas grasped Bates' chin. "My poor Bonnie John. Look how tired you are." He pulled a comb from his pocket and straightened Bates' hair. "You don't need to worry about the balance. You certainly don't need to be pulling out your hair over it." He slipped the comb back in his pocket. "Now then, we'll have breakfast, you'll dress His Lordship, and then it'll be straight home to bed with you."

"But you're to work only a half day, Pooh."

"I'll bring home the hamper this afternoon and we'll switch places. How's that? And when you come back this afternoon, the books will be balanced. Will that make you happy, you old goat?"

Bates leaned back in his chair and smiled. It had been two weeks since he had heard that particular appellation.

* * *

 **A short time later**

 **The Servants' Hall**

As they gathered for breakfast, the resident staff and permanent locals expressed their concerns for Thomas' health and welcomed him back. Daisy appeared from the kitchen and set a small box of jars on the table. "I prepared some rhubarb jam at the farm. It's my own recipe, not Mrs Patmore's, and I'd like to know what each of you thinks. Be honest now. You're no help if you're polite."

Andy took Daisy by the waist. "Then let's you and me be honest, Daisy!" He raised his voice. "Excuse me! Daisy and I have an announcement to make." All eyes turned to Andy.

Minnie glanced at Bates who felt his stomach turn. _Please no. Not Thomas' first day back._

Andy grinned broadly. "Mrs Parker and I are pleased to announce that we are expecting."

Thomas's voice could be heard clearly above enthusiastic shouts of congratulations, "It's about time, Andy," he teased. "I thought I was going to have to pull you aside and teach you a thing or two." Hilarity ensued. Mrs Hughes pretended to scold Thomas, and Daisy turned beet-red. Only Bates sat quietly, wondering if Thomas' teasing was his old protective bravado.

Daisy escaped to the safety of the kitchen, and the staff resumed their private chit-chats. Thomas leaned to Bates and whispered, "Daisy's a modern woman. She's probably read Stopes' _other_ book."

"Other book?"

" _Wise Parenthood_. That's why she waited. She's _planning_ her babies." Thomas opened one of Daisy's jars, dabbed a bit of jam on his toast, and cautiously took a bite. "Why, it's wonderful!" He spread his toast liberally and devoured the treat. "Give it a try, Mr Bates. I'll have to speak to Daisy. She has a potential business here."

Bates spread the jam on his toast and closed his strained eyes as he took a bite. He could relax now. His little brother had been returned to him.

* * *

 **One week later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Thomas was serving dinner to the family, so Bates knew he had more than enough time. He pulled the 1923 balance book from its shelf, removed two envelopes he had hidden in its pages, and returned the old book to its place. He set the envelopes on the desk and pulled some blank sheets from his notebook. He had everything he needed, but he could not bring himself to begin.

Bates walked to the single window in the room. Thomas had left the curtains open, and Bates adjusted his position until he could see the tip of the moon peeping from behind a cloud. "Are you there, Mam?" He paused, and then wondered what he was expecting to happen. "You understand, don't you, Mam? It's only that you're gone, and he's here, and he needs me. You'll forgive your darling banbhan, won't you, Mam?" He leaned against the wall and waited for the reply that he knew would not come. The cloud chose that moment to shift and unmask a half moon, but Bates was not one to assign meaning to a simple coincidence. He stepped behind the desk and sat.

Bates opened the first envelope and removed a Certified Copy of an Entry of Birth for Thomas. Bates had obtained the form in the customary way. It listed Thomas' parents as Jack Barrow and Agnes Barrow, formerly Reade. He opened the second envelope and removed a similar form for his own birth. It also was an official record, but one box on the form was blank, the result of a well-placed modest bribe. The blank box was labelled, _Name and Maiden Surname of Mother._ Bates studied the characteristics of the clerk's handwriting and practiced writing, _Agnes Bates, formerly Reade_ , until his handwriting could not be discerned from the clerk's.

Bates set down the pen and closed his eyes. He summoned his most recent memory of his darling Mam ... her keen eyes, her wavy white hair, and her kind smile with only a hint of the devil in it. "I'm sorry, Mam, but I must." He picked up the pen and practiced once more before committing ink to form. He blotted carefully and waited until the ink was absolutely dry before returning the two papers to their respective envelopes. He had time now to take the envelopes home for safekeeping and return to the Abbey before he was missed. He would explain his actions to Thomas someday, but not tonight. He was torn between a sense of satisfaction and a sense of loss and needed time to make peace with himself.


	81. By the Light of the Silvery Moon

**Chapter 81: BY THE LIGHT OF THE SILVERY MOON**

 **The next day**

 **Downton Village**

Joseph Molesley left the library holding _Religion and the Rise of Capitalism_ , a recent work about the history of the relationship between morality and the pursuit of material wealth. Hidden in his briefcase was _Joan's Best Chum_ , one of Angela Brazil's juvenile fictions about life at a girls boarding school. Molesley believed that reading modern stories for children would help him learn their lingo, but he saw no reason to advertise the habit.

As Molesley headed for his cottage, he caught sight of Thomas strutting down the street. He recalled Baxter saying that Thomas had been ill, and he caught sight of a new, slender streak of white in Thomas' dark hair. Nevertheless, he seemed as attractive and cocky as ever, with his head bobbing this way and that as he greeted well-wishers. Molesley frowned. _He's hoodwinked them_. _He's no do-gooder_. Still, Baxter was fond of Thomas, and Molesley was fond of Baxter, so he had learned to keep his opinion of the bounder to himself.

As Thomas came closer, Molesley could see that he was carrying a book. No doubt, he was headed to the library, which meant they would pass each other. Molesley prepared to offer a slight nod of the head and nothing more, but Thomas did not pass. He stopped directly in front of Molesley. "Molesley, you're a fool!" he accused.

"What?"

"You'll never find another woman like Miss Baxter. If you don't come to your senses and marry her quick, she'll find someone who knows how to make a decision!" With that, Thomas stepped around Molesley and paraded to the library.

* * *

 **The Molesley Cottage**

Molesley sat at his desk and stared at the books he had borrowed. Baxter would be leaving for London with the Crawleys soon after the eclipse. Molesley had deliberately selected a treatise that would occupy his mind and allow no idle time to pine for her. He had been confident that she would be restored to him when the Crawleys returned to Downton. As he flipped through the pages of the scholarly tome, he realized that Thomas could be right. Baxter might meet another man in London. A better man. A man who would not hesitate to present her with a ring. He was gathering the courage to face his options when he was startled by a frantic knock. He opened the door, and there stood Thomas.

"Molesley ... _Mr_ Molesley ... please, I beg you to forget what I said. I spoke out of turn."

"You weren't Miss Baxter's messenger?"

"God, no. You must know that she would never resort to such a thing."

"I do, but I'm relieved to hear it confirmed."

"Please, Mr Molesley, I've known Phyllis Baxter since I was a boy, and I'll never forgive myself if what I said should cause a rift between you."

Molesley was surprised by Thomas' remorse and felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. "What you said was true. You've given me something to consider."

"What does that mean?" begged Thomas.

"That's between Miss Baxter and me. Go home, Mr Barrow. We've spoken sufficiently for one day."

"Please, Mr Molesley, tell me that I haven't spoiled things between you!"

Molesley was not ready to let Thomas off the hook. "Go home, Mr. Barrow."

* * *

 **The Abbey**

"There you are, Mr Barrow," called Bates as Thomas came in the servants' entrance. "Where did you put the dance checklist?"

"In my notebook."

"Yes, but where's your ...

"Give me a chance to catch my breath, Mr Bates!" complained Thomas as he dashed up the stairs to the attic.

Bates paused briefly to weigh the situation before retrieving the newspaper from the servants' hall and heading up the stairs to Thomas' room. He announced his presence with a few taps of Old Ram. "It's Bates, Mr Barrow." He opened and shut the door and sat at the writing desk without giving Thomas a glance. "I couldn't find a quiet spot to finish the paper."

Thomas was seated on the edge of his bed. "There's a corridor of empty rooms up here."

Bates spread out the paper. "The light's better in here."

"So, John ... is this how it's going to be?"

Bates slipped on his reading glasses. "This is how it's going to be ... for a little while, Pooh."

Bates heard Thomas stand and pace behind him. "John ..."

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong with me?"

Bates turned the page and smoothed it. "You want a list?"

"I'm serious, John."

Bates turned and peered at Thomas over his glasses. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I bumped into Mr Molesley and hauled him over the coals."

"For any particular reason?"

"For not proposing marriage to Miss Baxter."

"I see. I can't say that I disagree with you, Pooh. He should fish or cut bait. Isn't that how Americans say it?" Bates returned to the paper. "Of course, it isn't our business."

"I want to be in control of my temper the way you are, John."

"Me?" Bates removed his glasses. "Little brother ... what do you remember of your illness?"

"I couldn't sort things out then, John, but I believe I remember everything. Why?"

Bates kept his back to Thomas. "You remember refusing to eat? You remember my losing my temper and trying to force you? You were helpless, and I pulled your hair and slapped you. My behaviour was shameful, Pooh. I'm not the person for you to emulate."

"You had to find a way, or I would have been restrained! I would have been force-fed!" retorted Thomas indignantly. "There was nothing shameful about it!"

"Careful, little brother," responded Bates quietly as he donned his glasses. "You're in danger of losing your temper again."

"Damn!" Thomas was silent for a few moments and then chuckled. "I'm hopeless."

Bates turned another page in the paper. "Aren't we all."

"It's getting late, John. We've got to get to work. I was reviewing my notebook this morning while I was polishing a tray. I must have locked it in the silver safe."

Bates closed the paper. "That's the one place I didn't look."

Bates felt Thomas' hands on his shoulders. "I'll run down and find it. I'll meet you in the pantry in a few minutes, you old goat."

"Right." Bates felt a kiss on the top of his head, and Thomas was gone.

* * *

 **Lunch, two days later**

 **The Servants' Hall**

Thomas did not see much of Baxter except at meals. At each gathering, he observed her surreptitiously while she ate, but he saw no sign of distress, no hint of a broken relationship. Perhaps Molesley had ignored his outburst.

Today, as the servants returned to their duties after lunch, Anna asked Thomas if he could come to the work area he had set up for her in the attic storeroom. "Let's go now," Thomas suggested. It was one of those lovely days when the entire family was out for the afternoon, and the servants had a brief respite.

As they walked up the stairs, Anna confessed that she was making no progress whatsoever converting her sketch into a pattern. When they entered the storeroom, Anna switched on the lamps. Her latest pattern was pinned together and draped over a discarded dress form that Gladys Cooper had sent along with the two rolls of pattern paper she provided at cost. Thomas knew that it came from the theatre Cooper managed on a tight budget, so he had insisted on paying for shipping.

Thomas walked slowly around the dress form. He reviewed the sketch that was sitting on the old table Thomas had appropriated from the storeroom and sanded smooth for Anna. He walked around the dress form again in the opposite direction.

Anna began to giggle. "It's awful, isn't it."

Thomas burst out laughing. "I'm glad you know it. I didn't want to break it to you."

"I don't have talent after all, Pooh," declared Anna as their laughter subsided.

Thomas examined the sketch again. "No, Anna, you have talent. You need instruction, that's all. Let me see what I can do. Perhaps there's someone in London who can help you."

"Thank you, Pooh."

"What's this?" Thomas waved toward a proper sketchbook and a set of Caran d'Ache colored pencils.

"They were a gift from John."

Thomas smiled. John never disappointed. "There's something John needs to buy for himself."

"What's that?"

"A swimming costume."

"Pooh, do you still believe you're going to teach him to swim? He won't agree to it."

Thomas sat on the old fainting couch. "Then help me to convince him, Anna."

"How?"

"Tell him ... tell him swimming is a sport he can enjoy with his children. He'll have a freedom in the water that he doesn't have on land."

Anna sat next to Thomas. "I hadn't thought of that. What else can I say?"

"It will keep him young."

"What?"

"Anna, be honest. John's not as active as he would be if he wasn't dependent on a cane. He's been gaining weight, and he's not as muscular as he used to be. If it weren't for the stairs he has to climb here, he'd be in terrible shape."

Anna sighed. "I know. I worry about it. I'm afraid of him aging too quickly. I'm afraid of losing him before his time, Pooh."

"I worry too. It's only going to get worse. Swimming will build up his chest and arms. It may even allow him to improve his bad leg, which will make the stairs less of a chore for him. Find a way, Anna. I need to do this for him."

Anna smiled. "All right, sweetheart. Leave it to me."

* * *

 **6.24 AM, Wednesday, June 29, 1927**

 **The Meadows Outside Downton Village**

Thomas gazed at the sky through one of the Eclipsia screens that Bates had purchased in bulk. It was the moment of totality, 99.95% totality in Downton according to the newspapers. Thomas was moved by the simple beauty of the event in spite of the clouds thinly veiling the sun. He wished he could join the others lying on blankets and watching the eclipse uninterrupted, but he was obliged to drop his screen regularly to check on the large group of children spread out in front of him. It was amusing to see the youngsters kneeling or sitting cross-legged on their blankets holding pinhole boxes over their heads. All except Timothy, who was younger than the others. He had righted his box and was sound asleep inside with his head resting on the rim.

It had been a glorious night. There had been an impressive cold buffet and dancing at the Village Hall. Thomas danced with Minnie and Anna and the more bashful women. A newlywed couple won the contest for best eclipse dance. The children played games in a large tent and made their pinhole boxes. Then there was the trek to the meadows with jazz band accompaniment. Mums pushed prams and dads carried sleeping toddlers. Families, courting couples, groups of single men and women, and the children with their pinholes set out their blankets on the grass. Babies and children slept and the band took a break while the adults enjoyed an early morning tea. The band played again and invited attendees to sing their favourite moon-themed songs. The band played its last song, _By the Light of the Silvery Moon_ , at 5.30, just as the eclipse was beginning. The song wasn't jazzy, but young and old knew the words and sang along.

The eclipse ended at 7.21. By then, most adults were packing away their blankets and collecting their children for the stroll back to their homes or their cars or the trains. Few would be expected to begin work on time that morning. As Thomas picked up Timothy, he thought he heard clapping. He turned to investigate and saw a group surrounding a man and a woman. The man was on one knee. With Timothy asleep on his shoulder, Thomas maneuvered in and out of the small crowd to get a better look. The man on one knee was Molesley! Anna was standing nearby and shushing the crowd. "Miss Baxter hasn't given her answer yet!" she cautioned.

Thomas was stunned. He held his breath waiting for Baxter's reply. He could not hear what she said, but it must have been _yes_ because everyone was clapping again and cheering. When Thomas finally worked his way through the crowd, he shook Molesley's hand. "Congratulations, Mr Molesley! You put me through hell, you know, keeping it to yourself, but I suppose I deserved it."

Molesley looked at Thomas with confused amazement. "I'm getting married, Mr Barrow."

Thomas laughed and clapped Molesley on the back. "Yes, you are, Mr Molesley. You're going to be a very happy man. I'm jealous!"

Molesley blinked. "You jealous of me? Who would have thought!"

Thomas could not get near Baxter, so he carried Timothy to the Abbey nursery. He caught up to Baxter on the stairs when they both were headed to the attic to change. "Congratulations, Fizzy. I know Flossie would have been happy for you. I think she would have approved of Molesley."

"I think Flossie would have approved of you, too, Thomas."

"I hope so. It's kind of you to say, anyway."

"Isn't it peculiar, Thomas? Joseph has always had difficulty with important decisions. What do you suppose pushed him over the fence?"

Thomas bit his lip. "I have no idea, Fizzy. It must have been the romance of the eclipse."

* * *

 **That night**

 **The Bates Cottage**

Timothy was asleep in his bed, and Anna was sitting on Bates' lap, nursing Emilia. "Aren't we too heavy for you, John?"

"Never."

Anna studied Bates' expression and playfully tweaked his ear. "What are you thinking, Mr Bates?"

"What will you give me to find out, Mrs Bates?" he teased.

"I do have something to give you."

"Do you?"

"I do. Something you need."

"That can't be. I have everything I need," Bates replied dreamily.

"Not everything." Anna stood and placed Emilia in her cradle. Emilia was plump and healthy and could be counted on to sleep soundly through the night. Anna removed an item wrapped in white tissue paper from Thomas' shelf.

Bates chuckled. "A new hiding spot. I thought I knew them all."

Anna sat on the sofa with the item on her lap. She removed the tissue paper to reveal a man's swimming costume. "Here it is!"

"Anna! I'm not learning to swim!" Bates pushed himself out of the chair. "Thomas put you up to this!"

"There's no need to get excited, John."

"You don't understand, Anna."

"All right. Then tell me."

"I'm ... I'm not learning to swim, and that's that!" Bates declared with finality.

"John, please sit down."

"No!"

"Fine. Then I'll stand." Anna wrapped her arms around Bates' waist. "John, I can't bear the thought of losing you. I need to know that you could save yourself if you were ever to fall in the water again."

"I've explained it to you more than once! Knowing how to swim wouldn't have saved me. My foot was caught."

"Why couldn't you take hold of your foot and pull it free the way Thomas did?"

"Why? Because ... because the current pushed me downstream of my foot. I couldn't fight the current."

Anna did not want to hurt her husband's feelings, but she was determined to make him see sense. "The man I married could have fought the current."

"What? What are you saying, Anna?"

"I'm saying that I can't put my arms around you as far as I could back then. You're not as fit as you were, John."

Bates pulled away from Anna's grip and grabbed his hat and Old Ram. He opened the door and turned back to Anna to have the last word. "I'm 48, Anna. Almost 50! What do you expect of me?" He stepped outside and slammed the door behind him.

Anna was in bed when Bates returned an hour later. She listened to him undress and felt him slip under the covers next to her. She silently turned to face him.

"Anna, you knew I was a cripple when you married me."

"I knew you had a limitation. I never thought of you as a cripple. Not until now."

Bates rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Why now?"

"Because you're refusing to help yourself."

Bates was silent.

"If you learned to swim, then you could teach Timothy and Emilia."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Thomas needs this. Let him take charge of you for a change."

"Take charge? He's the butler, for pity's sake, and last night he managed our most successful event yet!"

"That's not what Thomas says. He says it was all you. It was your idea, and you did all the work while he was ill."

"Good Lord! He knows full well why I was able to get things done. He had every step, every obstacle, every decision worked out in that damned notebook of his. That man can see around corners. Besides, he did his share of the work once he recovered."

"We treated him like a child, John, and now he doesn't trust himself."

"What choice did we have?"

"We didn't have a choice then, but we have a choice now. You still won't let him out of your sight."

"It's only been a couple of weeks."

"If you want to help him, John, then show him how much you trust him. Let him teach you to swim."

"Anna ... you don't understand. Learning to swim is ... it's terrifying to me."

Anna cuddled close. "I know, darling. You hate that it terrifies you, don't you?"

"Worse, Anna. I hate myself."


	82. The Fear

**Chapter 82: THE FEAR**

 **The next morning**

 **The Dining Room**

Standing at his post by the buffet, Thomas found it difficult to focus on the family's breakfast and not on his London plans. Mrs Hughes was on the train to London at that very moment so she could prepare Grantham House. Lady Mary had sent Carson with her. She could not bear the thought of him sitting alone in his cottage for the remainder of the season. Not wanting Carson to feel useless, Thomas had asked him to take charge of hiring local staff.

"Barrow, have you seen the Yorkshire paper?" asked Lady Mary, forcing Thomas back to the present.

"No, milady."

"Come here, then, and have a look."

Thomas looked at the paper over Lady Mary's shoulder. There it was. A photo of children with pinhole boxes over their heads and one little boy asleep in his upturned box. The caption read: _Little Timothy Bates is not impressed by the phenomenon eagerly viewed by his chums._ Thomas was delighted but maintained his professional presence. "I beg your pardon, my Lord, but isn't that one of your photos?"

Lord Grantham set down _The Times_ and looked at the paper Lady Mary held. "Well, I'll be! On the front page, too!" Lord Grantham exclaimed. "I knew my eclipse photos weren't up to snuff, but I thought this photo had a certain _je ne sais quoi_ , so I submitted it."

"It's charming, papa, but you weren't given any credit," protested Lady Mary.

"If I may, my Lord," interrupted Thomas, "not giving Your Lordship credit was a compliment."

"And how is that, Barrow?" asked Lady Mary, curious to hear how Thomas would turn the snub to Lord Grantham's advantage.

"If the paper had credited Your Lordship, then the photo might have been published merely to flatter, because of Your Lordship's station. Without the credit, Your Lordship knows that the photo was worthy of publication."

Lord Grantham laughed appreciatively. "Well said, Barrow. Now phone the bookstall and ask them to hold a dozen copies for the Earl of Grantham before they sell out ... and a few more for you and your brother."

* * *

 **After lunch**

 **Thomas Barrow's Pantry**

Thomas handed Bates two of the newspapers he had collected from the bookstall and watched as a smile erased the gloom that Bates had been wearing since his arrival that morning. "One for the scrapbook and one for a frame," he suggested.

Before Bates could respond, a knock sounded. The door opened, revealing Andy on the other side. "A parcel was delivered for you, Mr Barrow."

Thomas accepted the small package. "Thank you, Andy. Is your wife feeling better?"

"The morning sickness isn't too bad, but Daisy's miserable about deserting Mrs Patmore."

"Nonsense. Mrs Patmore thinks she's the one doing the deserting, and I think they're both being ridiculous."

"I'll tell her, Mr Barrow."

"Heavens, man, don't tell her that! Tell her ... tell her we'll miss her, but we're excited for her ... _especially_ Mrs Patmore. You'd think she was becoming a grandmother!"

"Thank you, Mr Barrow. That's exactly what I'll tell her. I better get on. I promised to help Miss Baxter and Anna carry luggage down from the attic."

With Andy gone, Thomas turned over the package in his hand. "It's from Harold Levinson! What do you suppose it is?" Bates watched with interest as Thomas opened the package. "It's a booklet. _Baseball: How to Play It and How to Watch It_."

Bates pointed to the wrapping. "There's an envelope stuck to the paper."

Barrow opened the envelope and read the enclosed note:

* * *

 _Dear Mr Barrow,_

 _My niece tells me you are athletic and adept at cricket.  
There's no cricket here. If you want to discuss sports in the U.S.,  
you'll have to understand our national pastime, baseball._

 _I'll see you and your partners right after Thanksgiving  
(a treasured American holiday at the end of November)._

 _H. Levinson_

* * *

Bates chuckled. "That's a good sign, Pooh. He's ready to make an American of you."

Barrow began to flip through the book but was interrupted by the telephone. "Downton Abbey. Thomas Barrow speaking." Barrow covered the mouthpiece. "It's Spratt."

Bates shook his head. "I still can't believe old Lady Grantham had a telephone installed at the Dower House."

"What is it, Spratt? ... Are you certain she said me? ... Did she say why? ... 4.00 sharp. I'll be there." Thomas replaced the receiver. "She wants to see me this afternoon."

"Why?"

Thomas shrugged. "Spratt didn't know."

Bates leaned back in his chair. "She has a telephone. She's a modern woman now. She probably wants a Charleston lesson!"

* * *

 **4.00 sharp**

 **The Dower House**

Thomas knocked at the servants' entrance, and Spratt answered the door. "Follow me," he instructed. Thomas had never been inside the Dower House, but it offered no surprises. It appeared exactly as the Dowager would, if the Dowager were a house. Spratt led Thomas to the parlour, announced him, and left.

The Dowager was seated at her writing desk. "You're looking well, Barrow. Is your health as it should be?"

"Yes, milady."

"I understand that you were suffering from exhaustion."

"That was Dr Clarkson's diagnosis, milady."

"Don't you think it was rather inconsiderate of you to run yourself into the ground that way?"

"I assure Your Ladyship that I've learned my lesson."

"I'm certain you have, Barrow." The Dowager tapped her temple and nodded towards Thomas. "This is new."

Thomas touched his hair and understood that the Dowager was referring to his white streak. "Yes, milady."

"It's not unattractive."

"Thank you, milady."

"Merely a statement of fact."

"Yes, milady."

Pleasantries, such as they were, were at an end. "I've decided to accompany the family to London after all, Barrow."

"I'll ask Mrs Hughes to have your room ready, milady."

"You're familiar with city night life, aren't you, Barrow?"

"A bit, milady."

"I hear that you keep up-to-date with the latest dances."

 _Bates was right! She's going to ask me for a Charleston lesson._ "I do my best, milady."

"Is your passport in order?"

"Yes, milady."

"I may leave London briefly, in which case I'd like you to accompany me."

"If you wish, milady. I'll speak to Lady Mary about it."

"Leave that to me, Barrow. I prefer that you keep my plans to yourself."

"Yes, milady."

"Before you leave, I want you to take a look at a painting in the corridor."

"Certainly, milady. Is it crooked?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Turn to the right and walk to the end of the corridor. Take a look at the last painting opposite the stairs. Take your time and return here when you're done."

"Yes, milady." Thomas left the parlour, turned right, and saw the painting's prominent frame. As he walked down the corridor, he could see that the painting was a portrait of a woman. _Take my time doing what?_ He glanced at the other paintings on the wall until he found himself directly in front of the portrait. He was shocked. The subject of the painting was not unlike several at the Abbey: a young, idealized aristocrat. Her exterior was painted as realistically as a photograph, but her _interior_... her interior was her portrait repeated in the cubist style ... Thomas had never seen a traditional style and a modern style mixed, and the image was ... unsettling ... alarming ...

"Well? What is your opinion, Barrow?" demanded the Dowager upon his return.

"My opinion, milady?"

"What does it mean?"

"Art is subjective, milady. I can tell you only what it suggests to me."

"And what is that, Barrow?"

Thomas paused to find the words. "The attractive image each of us tries to project to the world is merely an illusion. A person's interior life is complex and distressing and ..."

"Nonsense! I am exactly the same inside and out. There is nothing complex or distressing within or without me."

"Yes, milady."

"You may go, Barrow. I will give you further instructions in London."

"Yes, milady. May I inquire about the painting?"

"What is it you want to know?"

"You don't seem fond of it, milady. Why do you display it?"

"It was a gift from the artist," the Dowager responded curtly. "This interview is at an end, Barrow. If you are asked why you were here, you may say that I summoned you to discuss the luggage limitations on the train."

"Yes, milady."

"One moment, Barrow."

"Yes, milady?"

"I'd almost forgotten." The Dowager removed a box from her desk. Thomas could see that it contained an assortment of small toys: tin soldiers, a spinning top, a kaleidoscope, and a bag of marbles. The Dowager selected the kaleidoscope. "Your nephew admired this the last time he was here."

Thomas was certain that he had misheard. "Timothy was here? I don't understand, milady."

"Your chauffeur brings him here on occasion with Sybbie and George."

"I apologize, milady. I'll see that he doesn't disturb you again. I can't imagine what Nanny was thinking."

A smile flickered across the Dowager's lips. "I can't imagine that Nanny is any match for Sybbie. Don't concern yourself, Barrow. The visits are not unwelcome. Now that I have a telephone, Sybbie calls first to ask if a visit is convenient."

Thomas was dumbfounded. "I see, milady."

"Give him the kaleidoscope with my regards, Barrow."

"I will do that, milady."

"You needn't look so shocked, Barrow. I am a grandmother, after all, the same as any other grandmother."

As Thomas strolled to the Abbey, he tried to sort out his conversation with the Dowager but was baffled. What could the Dowager's mystery trip be, and what did it have to do with night life and dancing and that painting? He fingered the kaleidoscope in his pocket. _You may be a grandmother, old woman, but you're not like any other grandmother I know!_

* * *

 **Mid-morning, two days later**

 **The Train to London**

After settling Anna and Emilia in the Nanny's compartment with Timothy, the Crawley children and Miss Petty, Bates took his seat in third class. Miss Baxter, Mrs Patmore, and Minnie were sitting across from him and arguing and giggling over the wedding cake that Mrs Patmore had sketched.

Miss Baxter glanced up as Bates removed his hat. "I hope we won't be too noisy for you, Mr Bates."

Bates smiled congenially. "As long as I'm fed on time, you may make all the noise you like."

Thomas opened the compartment door as the train pulled away from the station and sat next to Bates. He glanced at Mrs Patmore's sketch. "What's that? Your wedding cake, Miss Baxter?"

"It is, Mr Barrow. Isn't it lovely?"

"It's making me hungry! When do we eat, Mrs Patmore?"

"In exactly one hour and forty-five minutes," replied Mrs Patmore sternly.

"I won't make it!" declared Thomas. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of barley sugars and passed them around.

Bates slid to the window seat and watched Thomas prepare for the trip. Thomas removed his hat and opened his notebook where he had stored the baseball booklet. He pulled a stubby pencil from his pocket, checked the lead point, and began to read. Bates had a library copy of Upton Sinclair's _Oil!_ in his pocket but did not feel able to concentrate on a book. He had always slept easily on trains and gazed out the window waiting for sleep to overtake him, but sleep chose to leave him alone.

As the women occupied themselves with discussions of weddings and honeymoons, Thomas drew diagrams in his notebook trying to comprehend the game of baseball.

"How similar is it to cricket?" asked Bates.

"Not very. Instead of two wickets, there are four bases, and a batter has to touch all four bases to score only one run! And he can't continue to touch the bases. When he scores one run, he has to stop. And the ball isn't bowled, it's pitched with a _bent_ arm!" Thomas' words could not keep pace with his excitement.

"Sounds as though it's an entirely different game," remarked Bates.

Thomas studied Bates for a moment and turned a page in his notebook. With his stubby pencil, he wrote:

 _-Remember my promise to teach Timothy cricket?  
Will I have made amends if I teach him baseball instead?"_

Bates grabbed the pencil from Thomas and wrote furiously:

 _-You made amends a hundred times over when you saved me from drowning!_

Thomas nodded but kept his eyes down. Bates could have kicked himself. He knew that Thomas did not like to be reminded of that day. He gave the notebook a gentle tug. Thomas shook his head, so Bates gave it another tug. Thomas relinquished the notebook, and Bates crossed out what he had written. Underneath, he wrote:

 _-Teaching Timothy baseball will square us, Pooh._

Thomas' soft blue eyes met Bates' gaze. "Good."

"Tell me more about baseball, Mr Barrow."

Thomas took back his pencil and drew a diamond. He tapped the pencil against one of the corners. "This is home, where the batter begins. He stands next to the home plate ... that's another word for home base. There's only one batter until he's either out or takes a base, and the bat is round!"

"Round! How does anyone hit the ball?"

"Practice, I suppose."

"Mr Barrow ..."

"Yes?" Bates didn't respond. "What is it?" Bates patted Thomas' shoulder and turned back to the window. He watched as the train passed a farm followed by a pretty village where a funeral was in progress.

Bates turned from the window, tapped Thomas' arm, and opened his hand. Thomas handed him the pencil, and he wrote:

 _-I packed a swimming costume._

Thomas pulled a second stubby pencil from his pocket and wrote:

 _-Good._

- _I'm afraid of the water._

- _I know._

Bates leaned back and closed his eyes. He thought about the haughty young man Thomas had been when they met before the war. How difficult it must have been for Thomas when he first humbled himself and spoke to Bates honestly. Bates wondered if he were capable of the same humility. He opened his eyes, nudged Thomas, and wrote:

 _-It makes me ashamed._

 _-Many men are afraid of the water._

 _-I don't care about other men. I don't want to be afraid. Help me, Pooh. Teach me to swim._

 _-You're feeling it now, aren't you? The fear._

Bates nodded.

 _-Take a deep breath. Another. Another. Better?_

Bates nodded again.

 _-Swimming is too overwhelming a goal._

 _-What then?_

 _-Standing calmly in a swimming pool with the water up to your chest. That's a goal you can achieve. Breathe, John._

Bates could feel himself panicking. Everyone on the train was going to bear witness to his losing his mind. He closed his eyes and felt a wave of dizziness pass through him. He felt Thomas give his sleeve a yank.

 _-Don't close your eyes. Do you have a book?_

Bates nodded.

 _-Take it out._

Bates' hand trembled as it retrieved the book from his pocket.

 _-Memorize the first paragraph backwards._

 _-Backwards?_

 _-Yes. Do it. It will take your mind off yourself._

Bates only stared.

- _Do you trust me, John?_

Bates nodded. He opened the book to the first paragraph and mouthed the words as he memorized, _motoring of ethics_ , _motoring of ethics_ , _motoring of ethics_ , _motoring of ethics the constituted way_ , _motoring of ethics the constituted way_ , _motoring of ethics the constituted way Dad's and_ , _motoring of ethics the constituted way Dad's and_ ...

By the time Bates had memorized two sentences backwards, he was calm, and Mrs Patmore was serving lunch. Anna was right. It was time to put himself in Thomas' hands.


	83. Colossus

**Chapter 83: COLOSSUS**

 **Later that day**

 **The Grantham House**

Thomas and Bates were the only out-of-town males who would be serving at Grantham House for the remainder of the season, so the men's quarters were rechristened the family quarters. Thomas had assigned Carson and Mrs Hughes to the butler's room, where he found them comfortably ensconced. Thomas was the butler, but Carson was much taller, and the butler's room housed the only large bed in the attic. Thomas was content to take the room down the corridor for himself, with Anna and Bates as his next-door neighbours.

Anna did not want to disrupt Emilia's schedule with trips to the attic, so she chose to have the baby sleep in the nursery with Miss Katherine and Master George. Timothy begged to stay in the nursery, too. "Help Kat-in! Help Kat-in!" Miss Katherine had taken her first steps the day prior to the London trip, and Timothy was convinced that she required his expert tutelage.

Miss Sybbie was thrilled to be assigned to Lady Edith's old bedroom. Miss Petty was equally but discreetly thrilled to be assigned to the bedroom next door. "Sybbie per-moted," Timothy explained when Anna came to nurse Emilia.

Anna repeated Timothy's remark to Bates who repeated it to Thomas. "Promoted?" Thomas chuckled as he and Bates dragged themselves up the stairs at the end of their long day. "I hope she won't be lonely."

"She'll be fine. She can always knock on Miss Petty's door."

"I suppose. Don't forget to set an early alarm, John. I'll meet you in the kitchen at 5.00."

"Anna will appreciate that!"

"Doesn't she has to wake up early for Emilia? It won't make any difference to her."

"I don't see why we have to sneak about like thieves before the pool opens," complained Bates. "Why can't we go in the afternoon?"

Thomas turned to Bates, who stood on the step below. "I want you to be successful, that's why. You won't be comfortable if you're being splashed and bumped by other swimmers. Morgan went to a lot of trouble to arrange an early entry with the caretaker."

"Don't expect me to be grateful," grumbled Bates.

"I expect you to show up," countered Thomas.

"I said I'd be there, didn't I?"

Thomas joined Bates on the step below and lowered his voice. "Stop it, John."

"Stop what?"

"This cavalier attitude. You can't ignore your fear, and you can't beat it into submission."

"What do you mean? Isn't that why I'm doing this ... to conquer my fear?"

"No, John. You're doing this is to lose your fear, not conquer it. There's a difference."

"I'm tired, Pooh, and I don't understand whatever the hell it is you're trying to tell me. I'll see you in the morning."

Thomas grasped Bates' wrist. "John, listen to me. You have to accept your fear, or I can't help you. You have to tell yourself, _I'm afraid, but going to do this anyway_."

Bates yanked his wrist free, took hold of the banister and hobbled up the stairs alone. He turned to see Thomas leaning against the stairwell wall with his arms crossed. Thomas was stubborn, but he was right. Bates had been wrestling with his fear the entire day, and it was no contest. Was he going to trust his little brother or not? Bates held up his hands in supplication. "I'll do it your way, Pooh."

Thomas grinned. "What lovely words!"

* * *

 **The next morning**

 **Westminster**

Grantham House was less than a mile from the Great Smith Street Baths. As they walked past St. James Park, Thomas asked Bates how to prepare bubble and squeak. Bates understood that Thomas was trying to distract him. He pried his mind away from swimming pools to the vision of his mum in the kitchen. "Boil the cabbage first, so it has time to drain. Then fry thin slices of cold boiled beef in a bit of butter. Be gentle or the beef will dry up. My dad would insist that beef shouldn't be fried for bubble and squeak, but my mum would fry it anyway. They had the same argument every time she served it." He chuckled at the memory. "While the beef is frying, slice an onion. Not everyone adds onion, but that's how I like it."

"I like it with onion too. What's next?"

"Press the cabbage to drain the last of the water and mince it. Then fry it with the onion slices in a bit of butter and salt and pepper until it's hot and the onion is cooked. You know the rest. Pile the cabbage on a dish and place the beef on top."

"But that's a cinch!" remarked Thomas. "I'll have to try it when we're back at Downton. Now tell me how to fix kedgeree."

They arrived at the baths to find the caretaker, Freddie Howe, waiting at the door. He was a heavyset man who smiled broadly in spite of his few teeth. He had a stutter and preferred pointing with his cigarette to speaking. He led Thomas and Bates to the pool and turned on the lights.

When Bates saw the pool, he felt his throat constrict, and the humidity from the water made the air impossibly thick. As he struggled to suck air into his lungs, he looked about the large space. There were seats beyond one end of the pool, and curtained changing cubicles that ran about the other three sides. He looked up to see a balcony with additional seating. A large clock was attached to the balcony rail, and a sign hung below that read, _SHALLOW END_.

"Change quickly, John. Dawdling will only give you time to dwell."

Bates nodded and the two men stepped into separate cubicles. Bates followed Thomas' advice and changed as quickly as he could. _I'm afraid, but I'm going to do this. I can't breathe, but I'm going to do this. I've forgotten how to dress myself, but I'm going to do this._

"I'm waiting, John."

Bates stumbled out of the cubicle and joined Thomas who stood below the clock. Thomas was wearing one of those newer two-piece swimsuits that showed off his athletic build: a sleeveless white top tucked neatly into dark blue trunks held up by a white belt. Bates was wearing a more modest one-piece costume of dark green: a sleeveless, thigh-length top attached on the inside at the waist to trunks, with red stripes banding his chest and the bottom edges of the top and trunks. He imagined that he looked like some forlorn Christmas tree ornament.

Thomas gestured to the water. "We're at the shallow end, John. See the wooden steps on the side?" Bates nodded. "I'm going in the water first to show you how shallow it is, then I'll help you down the steps."

Bates' legs were jelly, but he managed to follow Thomas to the steps. Thomas stooped, propped his hand on the edge of the pool and dropped himself into the water. "It's a bit chilly," he reported.

"Good. I'm sweating."

"Then you'll enjoy it." Thomas straightened to his full height. "See how shallow it is? Not even to my hips."

"I see."

Thomas climbed out and planted himself firmly on the steps. "Give me your hand, John, and I'll help you down. I don't know why they have steps without railings."

Bates backed up. "I can't do it, Pooh."

"Remember what I said, John. Allow yourself to be afraid. Be afraid and give me your hand."

Bates stared at his feet and silently commanded them to move, but nothing happened. "I'm sorry, Pooh. It's not working. I'm going to change." He stepped away from the pool's edge to give himself a wide berth as he walked to his changing cubicle.

"You can leave, but you'll have to walk back to Grantham House in your swimming clothes."

Bates froze. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"I didn't do anything, John, but Mr Howe took your clothes while you were watching me."

Bates rushed to his cubicle and flung open the curtain. "My shoes and Old Ram, too?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Fine! I'll wear your clothes."

"He took my clothes, too, John."

Bates knew there was no point in checking Thomas' cubicle, but still he pulled back the curtain. The cubicle was empty.

"John, he'll put back everything as soon as you get in the water."

Bates stood paralyzed, uncertain of his next move. He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun about.

"Calm yourself, John. There's a simple solution."

Bates pushed Thomas' hand away. "You would do this to me?"

"John, I'm not doing this _to_ you. I'm doing this _for_ you."

"Aren't you clever. You have an answer for everything."

Thomas remained even-tempered. "Stand here, John, and watch me." He returned to the steps and descended into the water. "Do you see that there's a railing about the edge of the pool?"

Bates was watching but refused to answer.

Thomas took hold of the rail. "I'm not swimming, John. I'm standing and holding the rail." He walked slowly towards the deep end while keeping one hand on the rail. "Do you see, John?" he shouted. "I'm walking and breathing exactly as if I were standing on dry ground."

Bates looked at the clock. His Lordship usually rang for him about 7.00. How was he going to explain his absence? He looked at the empty cubicles. _I am not walking through Westminster in my swimming costume. I'd be arrested by the time I reached the park._ He looked at Thomas, then looked at his feet. _Walk, damn it! We have no choice but to do this!_

Thomas turned when the water reached his chest. He was relieved to see Bates standing by the steps. "Wait for me, John!" He swam to the shallow end and climbed out. "Take my hand, John. There's plenty of room on the steps for both of us."

Bates took Thomas' hand. "I'm dizzy, Pooh, like some foolish swooning girl."

"No one's here to see but me, John. I'll catch you if anything happens. Feel foolish and take one step."

Bates held his breath. He stepped onto his good leg and followed with his bad leg until he was comfortably balanced on the first step. The cool water enveloped his ankles and helped to clear his head.

"Breathe, John."

"Right."

"Are you breathing?"

"I'm trying."

"Take another step."

"Isn't this enough for the first day?"

"No. Take a step, John."

Bates clung tightly to Thomas' hand and lowered himself to the next step. The water lapped at his knees, which made him gasp.

"One more step, John, and you'll be standing on the bottom of the pool. You'll feel more secure on the bottom than on that narrow step."

"Enough, Pooh," begged Bates, carefully turning away from the water. "This has to be enough for one day. I can't do more."

"Are you certain?" Thomas asked calmly.

"I'm certain."

"Very well. Have you got a good grip on my hand?"

"Yes."

"All right. Give me a moment to get my footing."

Bates felt Thomas shift his weight and step down to the pool floor. He expected Thomas to return to the bottom step. Instead, Thomas grabbed him about the waist and pulled him away from the steps and into the water. Bates flailed wildly.

"John, put down your feet and stand up!"

"I can't breathe!"

"If you're speaking, then you're breathing. Put down your feet!"

Bates found the bottom of the pool with his feet.

"Good. Now stand up. All the way, John." Bates straightened his legs and stood. Thomas kept firm hold of his waist. "We're going to walk together to the edge where you can hold onto the rail."

Bates nodded and extended his arms. As soon as they were close enough, he grabbed hold of the rail and pulled himself to the edge. "You bastard!"

"I know, John. I'm sorry."

Bates recited the litany of crimes that had been committed against him that morning. Thomas only nodded and repeated, "I know, John."

Once he had exhausted his list of offences, Bates felt calmer. He looked down at his legs in the water and then looked up at Thomas. "I'm doing it, aren't I?"

"I believe you are, Mr Bates."

Bates began to distance himself from his fear, as though he had watched panic overtake a man separate from himself. Had he actually been afraid to stand in this over-sized bathtub? "Perhaps, I could do a tad more, Pooh."

Thomas rewarded him with a broad grin. "We have a little more time. Hold onto the rail with your left hand only ... can you do that?"

"Yes."

"Now walk towards the deep end until the water's up to your chest. Take all the time you need. I'll walk with you."

Bates gripped the rail tightly with his left hand. He took a tentative step and felt secure. "I thought the bottom would be slippery, but it's not."

Thomas stopped them before the water reached their armpits. "Let's not press our luck. How does it feel, John? Is there less pressure on your knee?"

"I think so. It's ... buoyant."

"Let me show you what I'd like you to try next time."

"All right."

Thomas raised his arms out of the water and walked as quickly as he could across the width of the pool and back. "You have to push through the water, but it supports your weight at the same time. You can exercise your legs without hurting your knee."

"Let me try it once," asked Bates. "With you beside me," he added quickly.

Thomas shrugged. "If you insist."

Bates considered what he was about to do. "Yes, I want to try."

Thomas smiled. "All right, arms up!"

Bates let go of the rail but grabbed it again. _I'm afraid, but I'm going to do this anyway._

"Breathe, John."

Bates nodded and took a breath. He let go of the rail and raised his arms.

"Good. Ready, steady, go!"

The pair took off across the pool. It took more effort to push through the water than Bates had expected. He was so concentrated on forcing his way ahead of Thomas that he paid no attention to the water splashing his face. He reach the edge, turned, and headed back.

"I thought you wanted me beside you!" shouted Thomas as he pushed off the wall to propel his return.

"Catch up!" Bates yelled back. When he reached the starting point, he shouted, "I win!"

"No fair," protested Thomas. "I didn't know we were racing."

"Are you going to cry, little brother?" teased Bates.

Thomas started for the steps. "Get out of the water, you cheat. We have a day's work waiting for us."

Bates hurried to keep up. He was not so comfortable in the water that he was ready to be left alone. "You'll have to get our clothes back from Mr Howe."

Thomas laughed. "Mr Howe put them back as soon as I pulled you into the water."

Bates hooked his arm about Thomas' neck in that way of his. "You devil! I ought to drown you right now."

"Then who would help you out of the pool?"

"Mr Howe."

"Good luck!" Thomas pulled free and ran through the water followed by Bates in close pursuit. He reached the steps first and raised his arms in victory. "I win, you old goat!"

* * *

Thomas and Bates left the humidity of the baths and stepped into a pleasant, sunny morning. Bates spread his arms. "I feel wonderful."

"I'm glad, John."

"You did this, Pooh. I never could have managed it without you."

Thomas felt his chest lift. "Good. One point for me."

John stopped walking. "Thomas, are you keeping score?"

Thomas looked up with surprise as he always did when John addressed him by his proper name. "The one who's lagging behind can't help but keep score."

John drew closer. "I don't want it to be that way, little brother. There's no score between us."

"No?"

"No!" Bates began to walk towards the park. "Besides, you're a terrible scorekeeper, Pooh. You cured me of my fear of water. That's not a small thing."

"John, you're not cured. It's not that easy to overcome a phobia."

"What do you mean? I was up to my chest in water, and I was fine."

"I know. It was exciting to see, but ..."

"But?"

"Don't be surprised if the fear returns from time-to-time while you're learning to swim."

"Then you believe you can teach me?"

"I can teach you, John."

"Good."

The two men walked a while in silence and watched London come to life.

"John ... how is it that a man who's not afraid of anything is afraid of the water?"

"Not afraid of anything!" Bates laughed heartily. "What do you take me for? One of the heroes in those storybooks you read to Master George?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

Bates laughed again and tousled Thomas' hair.

Thomas pulled away. "Don't do that! We're in public!"

Thomas and Bates walked again in silence.

Thomas could not contain his curiosity. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

"All right, little brother. Imagine me not as the colossus you see before you ..." Thomas snorted. "Do you want the story or not?"

"Yes, tell me."

"Imagine me as a four-year-old boy let loose from my mother's apron strings for the first time to find my place among the neighbour boys. I followed the gang to their favourite swimming hole and saw immediately that their brotherhood had a hierarchy. The top-tier boys could swim. Naturally, I wanted to be at the top. Swimming didn't seem difficult, and I had no reason to believe that I couldn't. I stripped as all the other boys had and climbed the rock that the boys used to jump into deep water. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and leapt."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes! As soon as I hit the water, I began to paddle and kick as I had seen the other boys do. Immediately, I sank to the bottom. I pushed off, and my head broke the surface long enough for me to get another breath and scream. I swallowed water as I went down and my lungs ached for air. I didn't know that the other boys were swimming towards me. I managed to break the surface once more, but I had swallowed too much water to scream. The oldest of the boys, Max, grabbed me about the chest and pulled me out. He threw me hard over his shoulder, which forced me to spew the water I had swallowed down his back. He slapped my bottom, and tossed me on the ground. I screamed while he dressed, and I screamed all the way home where he dragged me by the arm. He shoved my clothes into my hands and left me naked and wailing on my doorstep where my mum found me. I remember every detail as though it happened yesterday."

"My poor Bonnie John."

Bates felt his lungs tighten.

Thomas clasped Bates' shoulders. "That was a long time ago. You're a colossus now!"

Bates smiled weakly.

"Did you tell your parents?"

Bates shook his head. "Max and his mother came by later, and Max bragged about saving my life. My dad offered to teach me to swim, but he could never get me back into the water. You're the only one who's managed it, Pooh."

"May I be there when you tell Anna what you accomplished this morning?"

"You have to be there, Pooh," answered Bates, "or she won't believe me!"

The two men stepped inside the servants' entrance where Thomas was accosted by Mrs Hughes. "There you are, Mr Barrow. The Dowager left this note for you after I retired last night. One of the local hires left it on my desk by mistake. I've already had a word with him."

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes."

Bates and Thomas started up the stairs to change into their day clothes. Bates glanced at the note in Thomas' hand. "Mr Barrow, are you and old Lady Grantham having a flirtation?"

"Very funny." Thomas opened the note. "She says she's having tea in her sitting room today with an acquaintance whom she wishes to impress."

"Doesn't Mrs Hughes make those arrangements with Mrs Patmore? Why is she involving you?"

"She wants me to make an appearance."

"I see. What is it now, Pooh? The black bottom?"


	84. Service for Three

**Chapter 84: SERVICE FOR THREE**

 **Nearly tea time**

 **Outside Grantham House**

Thomas impatiently eyed the street and wondered how much of his afternoon the Dowager expected him to surrender. Who was this Lady Adelaide Bennett whom she wished to impress? He caught sight of a cab pulling to the kerb and instantly was there to meet it. No sooner had he opened the door, than the occupant handed him a snow white toy poodle. He stood at attention and covertly studied the stranger while the dog sniffed his neck. The woman paid the driver, exited the car with an easy grace, and paused to gaze at the dwelling. "Grantham House, after all these years."

Although Lady Bennett appeared to be close to the Dowager in age, her silver hair was bobbed, and she was as trim as Lady Mary and at least as stylish. She turned to the dog. "Come here, Bebe. This young man has more important things to do than attend to you." She relieved Thomas of the dog and shifted her attention. "Are you Thomas Barrow?"

"Yes, milady." Thomas did not reveal his surprise at the question. _Why would the Dowager bother to tell her my name?_ He held open the front door to admit the mystery woman. "If Your Ladyship would be so kind as to tell me what the dog eats, I shall bring it a plate along with your tea."

"No, no. I don't like to spoil my little darling. She had enough to eat on the train and a lively walk before the cab. She's ready for a nap."

"A pillow then, milady?"

Lady Bennett laughed gaily. "How thoughtful, Barrow. Violet was right about you."

 _Right about me? Right about what?_ Thomas closed the door behind them. "Lady Grantham is awaiting you in her sitting room, if Your Ladyship will follow me."

"Lead the way, Barrow, up the stairs and back through time, if that's not too much to ask."

"Milady?"

"Forgive me, Barrow. I'm always a bit giddy when Violet and I get together. She's such a card!"

"Yes, milady." _This woman is daft._

* * *

 **The Dowager's Sitting Room**

Thomas opened the door to the sitting room and stood in stunned silence as the Dowager and Lady Bennett greeted each other as though they were the dearest of school chums reuniting after a long vacation. He had never seen the Dowager so animated except when expressing her displeasure. He reluctantly closed the door and flew to the kitchen, stopping only to grab a decorative pillow from the nursery.

"She wants service for three," Mrs Patmore informed Thomas before he could remove the extra dishes from the tea tray.

Thomas nodded. The Dowager must have invited a member of the family to join them. He returned to the sitting room as quickly as humanly possible without overturning the tray. As he approached, he could hear the Dowager's high-pitched titter and Lady Bennett's throaty laugh. He was curious to hear their conversation, but when he opened the door, they quickly sobered and dabbed their eyes with their handkerchiefs. He set down the tray in front of the Dowager and placed the cushion on the floor near Lady Bennett.

"You remember Barrow, don't you Bebe?" Lady Bennett asked the dog as she handed her to Thomas. He placed the dog on the cushion, and the animal politely accepted the invitation to nap. Thomas took his position next to the Dowager as though it were 1860 and he were a lady's footman. He could not help but feel that there was little to separate him, at that moment, from the little cur who slept at Lady Bennett's feet.

The Dowager removed the cosy from the teapot. "Addy, I believe it's time to disclose our business."

"I believe you're right, Vi."

The Dowager set the strainer over a cup and poured the tea. "Barrow, I'm going to ask you to do something that you will find shocking."

Barrow was amused at the thought of the Dowager shocking him, but he did not smile. "Yes, milady?"

"Sit down. You're to have tea with us."

Thomas was certain he had misheard. "I beg Your Ladyship's pardon?"

Lady Bennett accepted the filled cup and added a squeeze of lemon. "If he's confused by a simple invitation to sit, then perhaps he's not the man for the job," she remarked with a sly smile.

"Job, milady?"

The Dowager set the strainer over a second cup and poured. "I've asked you to tea, Barrow. I know you won't insult me by refusing. You're the guest I was hoping to impress."

"Milady, I don't mean to appear dull-witted, but ..."

Lady Bennett spread a napkin across her lap. "Sit down, Barrow. We won't bite, will we, Vi?"

The Dowager set the second cup of tea in front of the vacant chair. "Only if necessary."

Lady Bennett smiled pleasantly. "I suggest you not make it necessary, Barrow, and sit down."

Thomas could not help but feel he was the butt of a joke. He sat stiffly and stared at his cup, not knowing where else it was safe for him to look. Lady Bennett watched him for a moment and lost her frivolous demeanour. "Vi, something's not right. Perhaps this won't work after all."

The Dowager did not look up but proceeded to pour her own cup of tea. "Give him time, Addy. Isn't that the purpose of these practice teas, to give him a chance to adjust?"

"Practice teas, milady?"

Lady Bennett brightened. "Quite right, Vi. Shall we put the poor man out of his misery and ..."

"... shoot him?"

"No, I think we should tell him our plan first. Then we may shoot him." The Dowager and Lady Bennett seemed to think that this was the most comical thing a person had ever uttered, but Thomas was not amused. The two women again dabbed their eyes. "I beg your pardon, Barrow. Vi and I are not behaving as we should."

"I am perfectly able to apologize for myself, Addy." The Dowager picked up the plate of sandwiches and held it out to Thomas. "Won't you have something to eat?"

"No thank you, milady."

The Dowager's voice softened. "Please take one, Barrow. I recommend the smoked salmon. It has _capers_ ," she added, as though capers were a luxury a butler could not resist.

Thomas took a salmon sandwich and set it on the plate the Dowager handed him.

The Dowager handed Lady Bennett a plate and took one for herself. "I'm certain you will forgive us, Barrow. Addy and I have known each other since before we were married, but she lives in France now, and we have little opportunity to visit. When we're together, it's as though the years have collapsed, and we're girls again. It's a rare pleasure. You understand, don't you, Barrow?"

Thomas was astonished to hear the Dowager speak to him in such a personal manner. "Certainly, milady."

Lady Bennett selected an apple and cucumber sandwich. "We met the day of our coming out. We were waiting outside the ante-room together gripping our name cards. It was thrilling but terrifying. We each wore two tall ostrich feathers to distinguish us from the married women being presented. Married women wore three. Our _de rigueur_ nine-foot trains were draped over our arms."

"That's where we met Ella," added the Dowager. "Addy and I were wrapped up in our worries. Would our feathers fall? Would we stumble when we curtsied? Would we trip over our trains? But Ella laughed and reminded us that hundreds of women had been presented to the Queen. If one of us tripped, the Queen would only yawn."

"That was Ella." Lady Bennett took a second sandwich. "I was the first to go. My mother kissed me on one cheek, and Ella, a stranger to me, kissed me on the other. In those days, the ceremony was in the Queen's Drawing-room. I entered and dropped my train, and magically, it was straightened by two lords-in-waiting. I felt as though I were a one-woman parade as I approached the Queen. I curtsied so low I thought my nose would scrape the floor, and I received my forehead kiss. The Queen kissed all the peeresses as they were presented. I curtsied to the Prince and to Princess Helena and then came the final test: backing out in a series of curtsies without tripping over my train."

"You were the loveliest of the three of us, Addy."

"Yes, I was, wasn't I. But you were the most regal, Vi."

"And Ella was the most spirited," the Dowager declared.

"Ella was the last to be presented," continued Lady Bennett, "and when she found us afterward, she hooked her arms through ours, and our friendship was cemented."

The two women began to eat as though Thomas required no further explanation. He took a sip of tea and watched them over the rim of his cup. They seemed to lose all interest in conversation as they munched happily. He had no choice; he would have to speak. "That is a lovely memory, milady (nodding to the Dowager), milady (nodding to Lady Bennett), but I don't see how it pertains to me."

"Of course not. We haven't told you yet," replied the Dowager. "You're not eating, Barrow. Doesn't our fare suit you?"

Thomas was certain he saw the Dowager wink at Lady Bennett. "It's delightful, milady." He picked up the delicate sandwich and finished it in two bites.


	85. Puzzle Pieces

**Note from the author:** March 20th was the one-year anniversary of my posting Chapter 1. I never expected to still be writing the story one year later. I've always known the ending, but the characters are taking me on a roundabout trip to get there. I appreciate the readers who are sticking with me (especially those who were afraid that Thomas and Minnie would end up married). I'm sorry for the recent delays between chapters. On occasion, I'm inconvenienced by the need to make a living when I'd much rather work on the story.

* * *

 **Chapter 85: PUZZLE PIECES**

 **A Few Minutes Later**

 **The Dowager's Sitting Room**

The Dowager finished her third sandwich and dabbed her mouth. "Adelaide and I have a great favour to ask you, Barrow."

"I would be pleased to assist Your Ladyships if I am able."

"Barrow, you know nothing of what we're going to ask," reproached the Dowager. "I won't have you buying a pig in a poke."

"Vi, you're being most disagreeable." Lady Bennett nudged the dessert tray closer to Thomas. "Won't you enjoy a nice sponge, Barrow, while I kick Violet under the table?"

Thomas reached for an Eccles cake instead. "I might enjoy a bite of something," he replied, "if Your Ladyship would refrain from kicking. You might kick me by mistake."

Lady Bennett seemed pleased by Thomas' impertinence and responded with her throaty laugh. The Dowager raised an eyebrow in protest. "I haven't been disagreeable. I've been a lamb. Isn't that true, Barrow?"

"Indeed, milady, a lamb ... or at least, in lamb's clothing."

Lady Bennett laughed again. "Well now, Vi, perhaps this young man is suited for our needs after all."

"I'm certain of it, Addy."

Lady Bennett turned her attention to Thomas. "Violet and I are concerned for our dear Ella. She's always been an independent woman. When we were young, she was the only woman among our friends who showed no interest in marriage. She refused suitor after suitor until her mother forced her father to disown her."

"He was a coward!" spat the Dowager.

"Agreed." Lady Bennett paused for a sip of tea and continued. "The mother put all her efforts into Ella's brother, Sebastian, and pushed Ella from her mind. Ella fled to the states where she thought an independent woman would be welcome, and we lost track of her for a few years. We began to think the worst had happened when she showed up on my doorstep."

The Dowager refilled Thomas' cup. "We wanted to be angry at her for not writing, but ..."

"But it was impossible! Only her mother was immune to her intoxicating spirit."

The Dowager nodded her agreement. "Ella fancied herself an artist and wanted to move to Paris. Both Addy and I had been married for a few years and offered to help her financially. She was grateful, but she refused. She had few options and accepted a position as governess."

"Vi, do you remember the day her mother died?"

"How could I forget? That vile woman was throwing a fancy dress ball for Sebastian. She stood at the top of the staircase to make a grand entrance, tripped over her gown, and broke her neck falling down the stairs."

"Cripes!" blurted Thomas.

"Quite!" replied Lady Bennett. "The next day, Ella's father marched straight to his solicitor and changed his will and arranged for Ella to receive a generous allowance. She packed her paints and brushes and moved to Paris."

"You recall the painting in my corridor, Barrow?"

"She was the artist, milady?"

"That's correct."

"And you were the subject?" Thomas asked softly, as though to make the question less offensive.

"Yes," answered the Dowager simply.

"I shall have to leave soon, Vi. Let's stick to the subject."

The Dowager nodded slightly. "Ella has been content in Paris. She lives simply and is surrounded by friends who love her. They have no idea of her wealth."

Lady Bennett grew serious. "You have to understand how it is for people our age, Barrow. When we were younger, we had family and friends, and we were busy with our lives. Now death is our constant companion. Every year another friend or loved one is lost, and pieces of our hearts are chipped away. The losses can cloud our judgment."

The Dowager reached across the table and patted Lady Bennett's hand. "Let's not overdo, Addy."

Lady Bennett sighed and then flashed her charming smile. "So you can see why we need you, Barrow."

"Well ... no, milady ..."

"Addy, haven't you omitted something from your little tale?"

Lady Bennett laughed gaily. "So I have. You see, Barrow, I live in the countryside but have a second home in Paris. During my most recent visit, I was shocked to discover that Ella had taken up with a much younger man. He's handsome, amusing, cultured ... you get the idea."

Thomas looked from Lady Bennett to the Dowager for another clue. "I'm sorry, milady, but I don't."

"He's a fortune hunter," declared the Dowager.

"I see. But what can I do, milady?"

"Addy and I must bring Ella to her senses, but that's not a simple thing. She's not like us. She's stubborn."

Thomas held his tongue.

"We were desperate for a plan when Violet was struck with an inspired idea. Tell him, Vi."

"Often we are better able to recognize our own flaws when we see them in someone else," proclaimed the Dowager.

"That's true, milady, but I still don't see how I can be of assistance."

"Violet is going to visit Ella ... so that Ella can see herself in Vi."

Thomas was growing tired of this game, and these two old women were not making sense. Why would this Ella person see herself in the Dowager? Was the Dowager going to arrive in Paris with a much younger man? Immediately, the puzzle pieces snapped together. "You ... you want me to be a gigolo!"

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the Dowager.

"Of course we don't want you to be a gigolo," chided Lady Bennett.

"I beg your pardon, milady. I don't know what I was thinking." Thomas could feel the colour rising in his cheeks as he stared at his empty cup.

Lady Bennett placed her napkin on the table. "We want you to _pretend_ to be a gigolo."


	86. Silver Wing de Luxe

**Chapter 86: SILVER WING DE LUXE**

 **The Next Morning**

 **Westminster**

Bates studied Thomas as they walked side-by-side to the Baths. Thomas seemed lost in some pleasant reverie as he strolled alongside Bates. "Pooh ...?"

"Mmm?"

"What is that Cheshire grin, little brother?"

"What?"

"What has you so preoccupied?"

"Not much."

"It's old Lady Grantham, isn't it?" queried Bates. "Are you going to tell me what's been going on between you two?"

"You know very well what's been going on. An old friend of hers visited, and she wanted me to stand by her chair while they had tea because ..."

"...because?"

"Because I'm so pretty."

Bates let out a hoot.

"Do you doubt it?" demanded Thomas as he cocked his hat and strutted ahead.

"Not I, little brother!" protested Bates. Thomas slowed his pace, and Bates drew closer. "Why are you being so secretive? Why does she want to take you to Paris instead of her own butler?"

"Spratt!" snorted Thomas. "That man would be less than useless. He'd pick up old Lady Grantham's suitcase and collapse on the spot."

Bates frowned. "Has she asked you to keep her plans in confidence?"

"Yes."

"You only had to say, Pooh. I won't ask another thing about it."

"Thank you."

Bates judiciously changed the subject. "What do you have in store for me this morning?"

"It's a surprise."

"That sounds ominous."

"There's only one way to find out," answered Thomas as he waved to Mr Howe, who was waiting near the men's second class entrance.

* * *

Unlike the previous day, Bates wasted no time entering the pool and following Thomas into chest-deep water. He had felt a moment of panic as he descended the steps, but that passed as soon as his feet were planted on the pool bottom.

"Well? What's today's goal?"

"Putting your head fully under the water ... but we'll work up to that gradually," Thomas added quickly.

"Begin, then, before I have a chance to think about it."

They began by leaning over and dipping only their faces in the water.

"John, keep your eyes open."

"You're joking! Do you keep yours open?"

"Certainly. I want to see where I'm swimming. Let's do it again for a count of five, and you see how many fingers I'm holding up."

They each took a breath and placed their faces in the water. Bates squeezed his eyes shut and kept his face in the water until he felt Thomas tap his shoulder.

"How many fingers?" Thomas asked after they raised their heads.

"Three," replied Bates.

"You're guessing! Your eyes weren't open at all!"

"Weren't they?" asked Bates with immense innocence.

"You're wasting our time, John!" reprimanded Thomas.

"You're very strict, Mr Barrow."

Thomas crossed his arms.

"Are you going to pout now, little brother?"

"The clock is ticking, John."

"You win, Pooh. Hold up your fingers, and I'll keep my eyes open. I'll try, anyway."

"For a count of five." Bates nodded, and they repeated the exercise.

This time, Bates made a concerted effort to open his eyes and blinked them open and shut until he felt Thomas' tap. He raised his head and rubbed his eyes. "You tried to trick me. Seven fingers."

"That's right. How did that feel?"

"I thought the water would sting if I opened my eyes. Silly of me.

Thomas laughed, "You're not washing your face, you old goat. There's no soap in this water."

What's next?"

"Putting your entire head under."

"Oh."

"Breathe, John." Bates nodded. "You're not breathing. Why don't you relax a bit and let me show you what you can learn once you're able to put your head under."

Bates let out his breath. "All right."

Thomas took a deep breath and dropped to the bottom of the pool. He pushed hard off the side and shot under the water as straight as an arrow. As he lost momentum, he executed breast strokes, each stroke ending with a long glide. He came up for air on the other side of the pool and returned the same way. Bates was transfixed. _How wonderfully graceful he is._ Thomas surfaced next to Bates and took a moment to catch his breath.

"That was beautifully done, Pooh."

"Flatter me all you like, John. I still want you to put your head under."

"You're a bully!"

"No more stalling, John."

"Fine."

"We'll take breaths and drop under for a count of three. Then we'll stand." Bates nodded, and Thomas took his hand. They each took a breath and dropped under the water, but Bates panicked and came up coughing. "You're all right, John. Catch your breath, and we'll try again."

They tried again with the same result. Bates gripped the rail with both hands. "I feel so damned foolish!"

"That's not helpful, John," chided Thomas gently.

"I know."

"Turn around and give it your best try. Tomorrow's another day."

"Only once more?"

"Only once more, John," assured Thomas as he took Bates' hand. "Ready?" Bates nodded. The two men each took a breath, dropped to the bottom of the pool for a count of three, and came up together.

"Did I do it?" asked John in disbelief.

"You did!"

Bates did not know why, but he did not feel ready to celebrate. "I want to do it again ... by myself."

"By yourself? Are you certain?"

"Yes, I'm certain. I ... I have to do it by myself." Bates held his breath and dropped. He sat on the bottom of the pool with his bad leg extended because it did not bend easily. He kept his eyes open and looked about. For some confounded reason, he did not feel panic; he felt calm. He could learn to like this. When his lungs asked for air, he straightened his good leg and pushed himself to the surface.

Thomas beamed. "Nicely done, John! I can't wait to tell Anna!"

"That time was easier. Once more, Pooh, by myself."

"Don't you want to run in the water the way we did yesterday? It's the best thing for your leg."

Bates glanced at the clock. "We have time for both." He took a breath and dropped under the water. In one quick movement, he grabbed Thomas tightly around the knees and stood.

Thomas was caught completely off guard. "John, let me go!"

Bates clutched Thomas' knees to his chest. "This is for stealing my clothes yesterday."

Thomas pulled at Bates' arms but they didn't budge. "Put me down, John!"

"Not until you tell me I'm pretty."

Thomas burst out laughing and tried to wriggle free. "You're not, you old goat. Everyone knows I'm the pretty one."

Bates kept a tight grip with one arm while reaching up with the other to deliver a slap to Thomas' bottom. "Say it."

"You're a pretty old goat!"

Bates delivered a second slap. "Say it properly!"

"You're pretty, for an old goat!"

"Close enough." Bates released Thomas, who came down with a splash. "You're right, Pooh. I've lost too much muscle. I couldn't have held you much longer."

Thomas was flushed. "But you were holding me, John. Besides, muscle can be rebuilt."

"Then you don't believe it's too late for me?"

"That's ridiculous! Come on, John. Let's race!"

* * *

 **Tea Time**

 **The Dowager's Sitting Room**

Thomas sat at the table with the Dowager at his right and Lady Bennett at his left. Bebe was asleep at her mistress' feet.

Lady Bennett squeezed a bit of lemon into her tea. "Before we begin, Barrow, do you have any questions?"

"I do, milady. I was wondering why you chose me when you could have hired an actual gigolo."

The Dowager stirred her tea calmly. "And make myself vulnerable to blackmail?"

"I see your point, milady."

"Anything else, Barrow?" asked Lady Bennett.

"What is the purpose of these practice teas, milady?"

"Our dear Ella is no fool," replied Lady Bennett. "We must work out all the details if we're to be convincing."

"Details, milady?"

"How you and Vi are to address each other, how long you have been together, that sort of thing," clarified Lady Bennett. "We need to make subtle choices. Vi and I have discussed it and believe we should build on the truth as much as possible."

"The truth" interrupted the Dowager, "is that you're a butler and your manners as a butler need only minor alterations to become the manners of a gigolo."

Thomas did not know if it were he or gigolos who should be offended. "Milady?"

"It is not our intention to insult you, Barrow," soothed Lady Bennett. "Please allow me to demonstrate. Let's begin with how you are to address Vi. You will address her exactly as you do now, except that instead of saying _milady_ you will say _my darling_."

Thomas took a sip of tea while he digested Lady Bennett's instruction. He turned to the Dowager and purred, "And how will my darling address me?"

* * *

 **Two hours later**

 **Lord Grantham's Dressing Room**

Lord Grantham accepted shirt studs from Bates and inserted them one-by-one. "How's the swimming coming along, Bates?"

Bates smiled. "It doesn't resemble swimming quite yet, my Lord, but I'm beginning to like it. I believe I'll be a swimmer before we return to Downton."

"Bravo, Bates!"

"Thank you, my Lord, but the credit goes to my brother."

Lord Grantham held out his right sleeve. "May I speak freely, Bates?"

Bates inserted a link into the cuff. "Certainly, my Lord."

"I know you two have grown close over the last couple of years, and brothers should be close ..."

"... but ...?"

Lord Grantham held out his left sleeve. "Isn't it a bit risky to spend so much time in a swimming pool with an invert such as your brother?"

Bates tried to cover his surprise as he inserted the second link. "May _I_ speak freely, my Lord?"

Lord Grantham smiled. "That seems fair."

Bates helped Lord Grantham into his waistcoat. "My brother is a striking man who hasn't even hit 35. He's friends with some of the handsomest inverts, as you call them, in London. Do you believe a man like that, in his furthest imagination, could entertain the thought of a romance with an old man such as myself?"

"I didn't realize that you were such an old man, Bates," replied Lord Grantham softly.

"I beg Your Lordship's pardon." Bates had forgotten that the difference between Thomas' age and his own was almost the same as the difference between his age and Lord Grantham's.

Lord Grantham chuckled as he buttoned his waistcoat. "Nonsense, Bates. We said we were going to speak freely. Have you spoken your mind? I can take it."

Bates carefully modulated his voice as he held open Lord Grantham's dinner jacket. "I'm a happily married man, my Lord, and my brother considers my wife to be his sister and would never do anything to hurt her."

"Anything else?"

"Only that I am not an invert, and I believe it takes two, my Lord."

"I'm afraid I've insulted both you and your brother, Bates, which was never my intention. I hope I haven't damaged our friendship."

"Certainly not, my Lord. You spoke to me with sincere concern, which I appreciate. I'm afraid I wasn't prepared for the question and became flustered."

"I understand." Lord Grantham glanced at Bates in the mirror. "It's only ..."

Bates placed a white bow tie around Lord Grantham's collar. " ... only ... ?"

"Nothing, except that for someone who was caught unprepared, you seemed to have your arguments at the ready."

"Did I?" Bates tied the bow expertly, something he could do in his sleep. As he brushed stray bits of lint from Lord Grantham's dinner jacket, he wondered how Thomas would react to the suggestion that there was something sexual between them. Would he be revolted? Would he want to end their friendship? He could not grasp what had compelled Lord Grantham to make such a suggestion.

* * *

 **Night, one week later**

 **Thomas Barrow's bedroom**

It had been only six weeks since Bates had saved Thomas from what likely would have been commitment to an asylum. After his recovery, Thomas reluctantly relinquished to Bates control of his sleep habits. Bates immediately put the kibosh on Thomas' habitual late nights and now he was insisting on a daily nap to compensate for their early mornings at the Baths. Bates personally enforced the nap rule. Thomas would strip to his underclothes, as he was doing now, while Bates sat reading his library book from Downton. He would not leave the room until Thomas was in bed with no reading material, balance books, or work schedules within reach.

"Lady Bennett came to the nursery with me today to show her dog to the children."

"Did she?"

"As a favour to me."

"What?"

 _Damn me and my mouth!_ "As a favour to Lady Grantham. Isn't that what I said?"

"No. Never mind. Did Timothy like the dog?"

Thomas chuckled. "How could he not? It did all sorts of cute tricks. Timothy wanted Lady Bennett to hold the dog over Emilia's crib so she could see it."

"Did Lady Bennett oblige?"

"She's a kind woman, John. As soon as she understood what Timothy wanted, she set the dog right in the crib. Nanny was incensed, but she held her tongue."

Bates laughed. "I wish I could have seen that!"

"It gets better. Timothy could see that Nanny was angry, and he wagged his finger at her and scolded, _For Emmy! For Emmy!_ "

"Standing up for his little sister. I like that."

"I was that way with Flossie. I would tease her incessantly, but I watched out for her too."

Bates marked his place and shut the book. "I know, Pooh. Get in bed now."

Thomas pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets. "Flossie and I shared a room. That wasn't uncommon then, even for the middle class ... all the children in one room ... at least, where I lived."

Bates pulled down the window shade. "Where I lived, too." He sat on the edge of the bed to listen.

"If she was too cold, or if she thought there were ghosts under the bed, or if there was thunder, I would let her cuddle up to me. Most of my friends ignored their little brothers and sisters and let them go crying to their mums, but I liked that Flossie turned to me. I wanted to be her hero, I suppose."

"Then you understand how I feel about you."

Thomas looked up with surprise. "But ... I'm not a little girl, John."

"Does it matter?" Bates turned off the lamp. "Goodnight, Pooh."

"Goodnight, John." Thomas was glad to be going to Paris the next day. He was falling in love with Bates all over again, and the situation was becoming untenable. It was that damned horseplay in the pool. Yes, Bates had lost some muscle over the years, but he still was a powerful man. Once he had a grip on Thomas, Thomas was helpless to break free, not that he wanted to break free. He would require only a few days to allay his passion, and if those days were to be in Paris, so much the better.

* * *

 **Mid-morning, the next day**

 **The Cab**

Thomas sat in front with the cabbie, and the Dowager and Lady Bennett sat in back. Thomas was surprised that the Dowager would undertake a trip to Paris without Denker but assumed that one of Lady Bennett's servants would attend to her needs.

When they left Grantham House, Bates kept his promise not to ask further questions about the Dowager's plans. "Enjoy yourself, Mr Barrow." Thomas could see that Bates was worried and appreciated his restraint.

Thomas had arranged an appointment for Anna to show her dress designs to Gladys Cooper that very afternoon. He regretted that he would not be there to share her excitement, or possibly her disappointment. He was trying to picture their meeting in his mind's eye when he realized that the cab had missed Victoria Station. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Croydon Aerodrome. Where did you think?"

"Croydon Aerodrome?" Thomas turned to the back seat. "Good lord! Are we flying?"

"I'm not getting any younger, Barrow," replied the Dowager. "We're traveling by the most expedient method."

Lady Bennett smiled. "We're taking the new Silver Wing de Luxe. It has lunch service."


	87. Mon Loulou

**Chapter 86: MON LOULOU**

 **Later that morning**

 **Croydon Aerodrome**

Thomas carried Lady Bennett's precious Bebe as he escorted the Dowager and Lady Bennett across the airfield. He had never been so close to an aeroplane. It was not as impressive as he had hoped. In fact, it seemed little more than the toy of some giant child. He looked up to see the pilot in his open-air cockpit. The pilot waved gaily to the passengers as they approached. Thomas wanted to wave back but thought perhaps that would be gauche.

Thomas assisted first Lady Bennett and then the Dowager as they took turns ascending the stepladder to the plane's door. As each of the ladies reached the top step, a uniformed steward stationed inside offered his hand. Once both ladies were aboard, Thomas climbed the steps himself, keeping a firm grip on the dog. Inside he found two rows of cushioned wicker seats separated by an aisle and a buffet in the rear from which the steward would be serving the lunch Lady Bennett had mentioned.

Lady Bennett and the Dowager were seated across the aisle from each other in the two front seats. Thomas returned Bebe to Lady Bennett, removed his hat, and took his seat behind the Dowager. The ladies had coached Thomas carefully. He and the Dowager would avoid addressing each other until they were certain no acquaintances of theirs were seated among the other passengers. If all of the passengers proved to be strangers, then Thomas would assume the guise of the Dowager's gigolo immediately, not that they would refer to him as such.

Thomas tapped his pockets to confirm the presence of his wallet and his notebook. Lady Bennett had given him a substantial sum in French money to help create the desired illusion. A woman of position would fatten the wallet of her kept man so that he could give the impression of paying to entertain her, not vice versa. Thomas intended to track every centime he spent of Lady Bennett's money.

Thomas strummed his fingers on the armrest and watched through the curtained window as another plane landed and released its passengers. Men and women left the plane as though they were stepping off a bus ... as though exiting a contraption that had freed them from the confines of gravity were the most ordinary thing in the world.

The steward stowed the stepladder and shut the door. Then he made his way to the front row and began taking beverage orders. Both of his ladies asked for tea, but Thomas would be damned if he were going to give an aeroplane the opportunity to toss a cup of hot tea on his lap. After hearing the selections, he settled on lemonade. No sooner did the steward move to the next pair of seats than the engines started up, causing the entire structure to whine and vibrate. They were not even airborne yet!

Thomas watched peripherally as the Dowager calmly stood and stepped across the aisle to ask Lady Bennett about the likelihood of rain in Paris this time of year. As she spoke, she casually glanced up the aisle at the other passengers. Lady Bennett answered the question, and the Dowager returned to her seat.

Thomas picked up his hat and stood to place it on the overhead rack. He tried to get a look at all the passengers, but the steward was blocking his view of several seats. He approached the steward and asked what time they would arrive in Paris.

"About 2.30, sir."

Having observed the remaining passengers over the steward's shoulder, Thomas thanked the man and returned to the front of the plane. The Dowager gestured to him, and he leaned over her shoulder. "Nothing," she reported quietly. "And you?"

"The same," Thomas whispered back. He placed his hand over the Dowager's as though it were something he did regularly. "Is there anything I may do for you, my darling?" he asked, speaking in a normal tone.

The Dowager's mouth pinched for the tiniest of moments before smiling amiably. "Not a thing, mon loulou. You should sit and enjoy the flight, dear boy."

"Whatever you say, my darling."

Thomas returned to his seat. _Mon loulou_. He remembered how pleased Lady Bennett had been with that choice of endearment.

"When Vi was a newlywed, she first addressed her husband as mon loup," Lady Bennett informed him at their first practice tea.

"My wolf," translated the Dowager. "That was a long time ago."

"Today, Vi is a grand lady. A woman in her position would never think of endowing her young man with the power of a wolf. You understand."

"I understand," responded Thomas.

"Addy suggests that I address you as mon loulou. I prefer dear boy. I'll use whichever suits me at the moment."

"What does it mean ... mon loulou?"

"Addy, how do I explain it?"

Lady Bennett thought for a moment. "It doesn't translate to English. It's an affectionate term for a man or boy that ... doesn't ..."

"... that doesn't confer power," summarised Thomas.

"So you do understand," observed Lady Bennett.

 _Why not mon loulou?_ thought Thomas. _I'm already Winnie-the-Pooh._

The plane began to move. It travelled a short distance on the ground and stopped. For a moment, Thomas thought something was wrong. Then the plane began to rumble down the runway, bouncing wildly as it picked up speed. Thomas leaned back in his seat and gripped the armrests. Just as he felt his stomach turn over, the bouncing stopped.

The pilot had done it; the plane was in the air, and they were all birds! As the plane continued to climb, Thomas craned his neck to watch everything on the ground grow smaller until he lost all sense of size. How he wished Bates and Anna were here to experience this!

The steward served a simple but pleasant lunch of sandwiches and cakes and pointed out sights of interest along the route. By the time Thomas strolled across the French airfield carrying Bebe and escorting his ladies, he felt quite the sophisticate.

* * *

 **Later that afternoon**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

Thomas sat at the writing table in his room and jotted down the details of his flight and his impression of Lady Bennett's home. There were some things he could share with Bates and Anna without revealing the exact nature of his visit.

Maison de Bennett, or Bennett's folly as the Dowager called it, was in the modern style. Lord and Lady Bennett had it built at great expense in 1920. Clean lines and expansive windows gave the house a brighter, fresher feel than Grantham House. The butler, housekeeper, cook, lady's maid, and chauffeur lived in servants' quarters that were separated from the main house by a formal garden. Their rooms were over a garage. "One of the first in Paris," boasted Lady Bennett.

The butler, Brouette, led Thomas not to the servants' quarters but to a suite in the main house with its own dressing room, bathroom, and terrace. "I hope you find these rooms suitable, Monsieur Barrow."

"Quite."

"I would be happy to serve as your valet during your visit," offered Brouette.

Thomas liked Brouette. He had mastered that tone to which Barrow aspired, that perfect balance of service but not subservience. "That's kind of you. I won't need assistance dressing, but if you would see to my clothes and shoes."

Brouette pointed to Thomas' bag. "May I?"

"Be my guest." Thomas watched with approval as Brouette expertly unpacked his clothes. "I'll need my evening clothes tonight."

"I'll have them pressed immediately, Monsieur Barrow, but ... if I may be so bold ..."

"Yes, what is it?"

"I did not find evening links."

Barrow frowned. Lady Bennett had thought of everything else. She had Thomas fitted for stylish evening clothes and bought him a fine pair of shiny patent leathers, but she had forgotten cuff links. "I'm afraid my day links will have to do."

"Let me see if I can arrange something, Monsieur Barrow."

* * *

 **Early that evening**

Thomas had followed Lady Bennett's advice and taken a short nap followed by tea and sandwiches in his room. He had taken a refreshing bath and was wearing his underclothes and robe when Brouette placed his crisply pressed suit and polished shoes in his wardrobe.

"This is the first year Lord Bennett hasn't returned to Paris with Lady Bennett, and he still has some clothes here."

Thomas nodded. He was aware that Lady Bennett's husband was in his nineties and, after a minor stroke, had declared his traveling days were over.

Brouette held out a pair of sapphire and diamond cuff links. "This is the pair he usually wore for evening. I think they will do nicely."

"Indeed, but does Lady Bennett know?"

Brouette smiled congenially. "She knows, Monsieur Barrow, and she approves."

"Thank you, Brouette. I appreciate your looking out for me."

"My pleasure, monsieur. Is there anything else I may do for you."

"No, but I'm curious, Brouette. How is it that you speak English so well ... if that's not too personal."

"Not at all, Monsieur Barrow. I was born on a farm near the estate that belonged to the family of Lord Bennett's mother. She was French, you know."

"I believe Lady Bennett mentioned it."

"It didn't take long before my mother decided that I was too frail for farm life."

"You? You don't seem frail to me."

Brouette chuckled. "You haven't seen my brothers, Monsieur Barrow. They all have legs like tree trunks. For that matter, so do my sisters!"

Thomas laughed appreciatively.

"In those days, Lord and Lady Bennett still lived in England and would visit the estate twice a year. When I was twelve, my mother approached Lady Bennett and begged her to take me to England as a servant. Lady Bennett agreed to take me as a hall boy on the condition that I apply myself to learning English. And apply myself I did."

"You certainly did," agreed Barrow.

"It wasn't difficult. I was young and working in an English household. And now I'm older and have the pleasure of serving you, Monsieur Barrow, in English."

"You make me ambitious. I shall have to learn French or consider myself a slacker."

"You don't strike me as the slacker-type, monsieur."

Barrow wondered if Brouette was a snob as he knew himself to be at times. "I was a butler myself before I came here. That's how I met Lady Grantham."

"Were you, Monsieur Barrow? Then you shall do us both proud when you step out tonight."

To his shame, Thomas could see that this man had the generous nature to which he himself merely pretended. "I shall do my best, Brouette."

* * *

 **Late that night**

 **Café du** **Dôme**

Thomas and his ladies had enjoyed a fine dinner at Michaud's so that Thomas could have the opportunity to test his playacting in public before being introduced to Ella at Le Dôme. He confessed only to himself how much he enjoyed paying for the expensive meal from his own wallet. Now he sat in Le Dôme between the Dowager and Lady Bennett waiting to begin his assignment in earnest.

Lady Bennett leaned close to Thomas. "The two women sitting in the corner to your left ... the slimmer one who'll be blotto within a couple of hours ... that's Isadora Duncan. She enjoys attractive young men and may speak to you. Do not under any circumstances mention Sacco and Vanzetti to her ... or anarchy for that matter. You could start a riot."

Thomas was amused by Lady Bennett's use of _blotto_ , but he took note of her warning. As he turned his attention back to his own table, a man waving for a waiter caught his attention. The man reminded him of Bates. It was not that they had similar facial features, but they both had similar builds and projected the same masculine energy. "Who is that man with the moustache, Lady Bennett, two tables over?"

Lady Bennett lowered her voice. "He's not for you, Barrow. He's not an auntie."

Thomas was baffled. "Auntie?"

"Addy means the way _you're_ an auntie." The Dowager also spoke in a hushed tone.

It took a moment before Thomas understood that auntie was his ladies' code word for his sexual proclivity.

"Listen to me, Barrow. If you choose to ignore my advice, then do not allow yourself to be caught up in that man's personal stories. Ernest Hemingway is a myth of his own creation. And if you still choose to ignore my advice, then prepare yourself to be memorialised as some pathetic character in one of his books."

Before Thomas could reply, the Dowager took hold of his shoulder. "Look, mon loulou! They're here!"


	88. Cocktails and Cigarettes

**Chapter 88: COCKTAILS AND CIGARETTES**

 **A moment later**

 **Café du** **Dôme**

Thomas scanned the room to locate the final member of the Dowager's odd trio. He needed no assistance to spot her in the crowded cafe. Ella was a wisp of a woman, but her smile filled half her face and her presence filled the entire room. She had short silver hair as did Lady Bennett, but Lady Bennett's curls were sleek and meticulously marcelled, while Ella's were unfussy and untamed. The tiny woman wore white lounging pyjamas topped by a man's tuxedo coat. Her wild curls were restrained by a man's black tie, which was properly knotted and secured about her head with a tie clasp over one ear. _She must be one of those surrealists_ , Thomas thought to himself, although he was not certain why he thought so or what was meant by surrealist. No one seemed to object to Ella's odd mode of dress. On the contrary, she was greeted cordially by everyone she passed, and Thomas felt certain that the younger women present would be wearing the same outfit the following week.

Ella's escort barely registered with Thomas. He was appropriately dressed for an evening in Paris but lacked Thomas' panache. Thomas guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties. His features were not unpleasant but neither did they draw the eye.

Thomas stood politely as Ella and her escort approached, but the Dowager let go of decorum and abandoned the table to embrace her dear friend whom she had not seen in too many years. Lady Bennett took charge of introductions all around. She had explained to Thomas earlier that Ella preferred to be known and appreciated in Paris as an artist, not as a peeress, so she did not mention Ella's title, just as she did not mention Thomas' lesser rank of butler. She introduced Ella's unobtrusive escort as Monsieur Lyle Giroux. He was a French native, but his mother was British, hence his excellent English.

Giroux's personality made a better impression on Thomas than his appearance. He was well-read and knowledgeable about the arts and artists but lacked any hint of condescension. He expressed sincere interest in others and sprinkled conversations generously with his good-natured laugh. "Shall we order cocktails?" he asked. "Perhaps the 75 for Monsieur Barrow and myself and Mimosas for the ladies?"

Thomas turned to the Dowager. "What do you think, my darling? Don't you always say that the more I drink the more adorable I become?"

The Dowager smiled indulgently. "You're confused, mon loulou. I say that the more _I_ drink the more adorable you become. The more you drink, dear boy, the more dreary you become, and there's nothing adorable about that."

"Now I remember, my darling. Perhaps you shouldn't say these things to me after I've had a few."

"Quite right. But you must have _one_ , mon loulou. This is a celebration."

"Yes, one won't make me too stupid. What is the 75, Monsieur Giroux?"

"A cocktail made with champagne, a bit stronger than a mimosa."

"That suits me," replied Thomas.

The five were chatting amiably when their cocktails arrived. Giroux proposed a toast to friendships, old and new. The others raised their glasses in agreement, and each took a sip.

 _Gin. Gin and champagne. I'm sunk_ , thought Thomas. He did not understand how a man as tall as he could be such a lightweight when it came to alcohol, but there it was.

The Dowager opened her bag and retrieved a handkerchief that she pressed lightly to her forehead. "I'm sorry to put a damper on our reunion," she began. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling quite myself. You'll have to put me in a taxi, mon loulou."

Thomas took the Dowager's hand, as planned. The Dowager would take her leave tonight, and both she and Lady Bennett the next night, making it easier for Thomas to become closer to Ella and Giroux and evaluate their relationship. "My darling, why didn't you say? I'll take you back to the house immediately."

"We'll all go, Vi," suggested Ella. "We'll have a night of cards."

"There's no better way to become acquainted," added Giroux.

"What do you say, my darling?" queried Thomas solicitously. "We'll play cards and get to know each other, and you may retire whenever you like."

"I wouldn't think of it, mon loulou," protested the Dowager. "I promised you Paris nightlife, not a night of playing nursemaid. Addy, won't you allow Thomas to be your escort?"

"Of course, Vi, if that's what you want."

"Well, it isn't what I want," objected Thomas. "You and I shall have a quiet night at home, my darling," he insisted.

"Nonsense, mon loulou. I'm going to take a powder and go to bed. You can't keep me company if I'm sleeping, can you? Monsieur Giroux, will you see to it that the dear boy has a taste of Paris and enjoys himself?"

"Certainly, Lady Grantham. It would be my pleasure."

Thomas tapped his chin twice and then the edge of his glass twice. "Very well, my darling. I surrender. You know best."

"Always," teased the Dowager lightly as she patted Thomas' cheek. She glanced at his cocktail and then at him. Thomas and Giroux stood, and Thomas pulled out the Dowager's chair as she rose. As she reached for her bag, her arm jerked and knocked over Thomas' cocktail. "How clumsy of me!"

"No matter," assured Giroux. "I'll order another."

Thomas held out his arm for the Dowager. "Thank you, Monsieur Giroux. Perhaps a mimosa this time. I have a craving for orange juice."

* * *

 **Later that night**

 **The Folies Bergère**

Ella watched Vi's young man with amusement. He didn't seem particularly interested in the bare-breasted women who decorated the lavish _Un Vent de Folie_ sets, but he perked up during the _Plantation_ number when Josephine Baker made her first entrance wearing a ragamuffin costume that exposed her long limbs. Her hair was pomaded in that style Parisian woman had tried to copy the previous year with their little jars of Bakerfix, but now she sported a large spit curl in the centre of her forehead.

Other women in the production had executed their studied choreography precisely, but Baker seemed to be making up her dances on the spot. Her energy was palpable, and her long bare limbs were almost too quick to follow. The young man's eyes shone as Baker's joy washed over the footlights to the far reaches of the house. He leaned back, disappointed, whenever she left the stage, and came to life whenever she returned. In one number, a film of Baker dancing the black bottom was projected onto the stage while the living Baker danced with her projected image. In another number, an enormous, flowered ball descended from the dome of the theatre. The ball split open revealing an almost naked Baker who danced on a mirrored floor until the ball closed and returned slowly to the dome.

Ella expected the young man to gush when the show ended as young men often did when they saw Baker dance for the first time. "What do you think?" she prompted.

"That woman," he answered in a hushed tone. "I wonder what it's like to be so alive." And that was all he said.

* * *

 **Late that night**

 **Chez Bricktop**

Thomas was enjoying himself. It seemed as though everyone in Paris knew and welcomed Ella and Lady Bennett. The four were devouring supper at Lady Bennett's favourite nightclub when a woman at the cashier's desk began singing. The woman was dark-skinned but had red hair and freckles. He realized this must be the proprietress, Bricktop, and watched her deliver her song, all while collecting payment from a Frenchman trying to give her the slip and calming an argument between a drunken woman and her embarrassed escort.

Later Bricktop joined their table, and Thomas remained standing until Lady Bennett finished her introduction. He offered his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Bricktop."

Bricktop chuckled and shook his hand. "Likewise. So, Monsieur Barrow, are you a performer?"

"Oh, no."

"A writer?"

"No."

"Composer ... choreographer ... artist?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm quite ordinary."

"What a relief!" exclaimed Bricktop, eliciting hearty laughter from his party. At that moment shouting erupted from the kitchen. "Duty calls!" she shouted over the din as she hurried to the kitchen.

The four continued to enjoy the food and the jazz band, but Thomas noticed that Ella glanced several times at Giroux's wristwatch. "I hope that I'm not keeping you from something, Ella."

Giroux looked up with surprise. "What is it dear? Do you have an idea you need to sketch?"

"No, that isn't it. I'm terribly sorry," apologized Ella. "I didn't mean to be rude."

Thomas set his napkin on the table. "Please don't think that, Ella. You've given me a delightful evening, but it is getting late. Shall we call it a night?"

Ella smiled. "You're a darling, but it's not that late. You see, I wasn't expecting your visit tonight. Honestly, Addy, you could have given me a little warning. I have a little something I need to do. It won't take long. Will you excuse me?"

Thomas and Giroux stood. "Shall I come with you, darling?" asked Giroux.

"No, that won't be necessary." Ella paused for a moment. "Although ... Thomas, may I steal you away for a bit?"

Thomas was surprised but offered his arm. "Certainly."

Ella picked up her bag and took the offered arm. "We won't be gone long." As they exited, Ella turned to Bricktop who was stationed again at the cashier's desk. "Back in a jiff."

* * *

Ella knew the streets well and guided Thomas to a bench in a lonely alcove where they could sit apart from the nightclub crowd. The two sat together and Thomas waited quietly for Ella to disclose her purpose.

"So, you're Vi's new fellow."

"That's right."

"Why do I find that difficult to swallow?"

"I don't know. You have a fellow, don't you. What's the difference?"

Ella smiled. "Fair enough. Tell me, Monsieur Barrow, do you smoke?"

"Please call me Thomas. I can't call you Ella while you're calling me Monsieur Barrow."

"Very well. Do you smoke, Thomas?"

"I did, but I quit a few weeks ago."

"I quit years ago, but I still smoke now and then to ... mark an occasion."

Thomas chuckled. "My brother does that."

"Then you understand, and you'll join me?"

"All right. What's the occasion?"

Ella ignored the question. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to accompany me rather than Lyle or Addy."

"Yes."

"You're very obliging."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment, Thomas."

"No?"

"No. Lyle is very obliging. He's an intelligent, insightful man, but very obliging. When we met, he understood immediately what I was trying to accomplish with my art. He could express it better than I could. I thought, here's the man to help me break through. That was the beginning for us. But he's so very, very obliging. He never confronts. He always sees my point of view. We always do what I want. We always have what I want for dinner. We never argue. I can't stand it another minute!"

She watched Thomas turn and stare at his shoes.

"I would like it a little more if you were a little less obliging, Thomas."

"All right."

"So?"

"So? ... so, tell me why the hell you dragged me out here when I was having a perfectly good time inside, you crazy old bat!"

Ella stared at Thomas a moment and then exploded with laughter. "I knew I liked you, Thomas! I'll tell you why I wanted you and not Lyle or Addy. Lyle and Addy belong to my Paris life, but you ... you'll go home to England in a few days, and I'll never see you again. Understand?"

"No."

"I'm getting old, Thomas. I've been holding onto a secret for too many years, and it's eating away at me. I need to share it. I'm desperate to share it."

"Oh ... and you want to share your secret with someone you'll never see again?"

"That's right. Are you willing to hear my secret and take it away with you?"

"Yes. I can do that. I'm flattered that you trust me, Ella."

"I'm not usually so trusting, Thomas. Perhaps it's because you arrived on this date ... I don't know ... but I felt immediately that you were the one to hear my secret. Of course, the arrangement is reciprocal ... if you'd like, Thomas. That's up to you."

"I don't know, Ella. I'll think about it."

Ella opened her bag and removed cigarettes and a lighter. "Will you do the honours?"

Thomas took the cigarettes and raised one to Ella's lips and one to his own. "Ready?"

Ella nodded.

Thomas lit Ella's cigarette, and she took a deep drag, leaned back on the bench, and exhaled. She watched as Thomas lit his own cigarette and did the same.

"Do you know anything about me, Thomas?"

"No much. I know that you met Violet and Lady Bennett when you were presented. I know that your mother was not sympathetic when you wouldn't accept a suitor and you escaped to the states for a while."

"I've never told anyone about my life in the states. I found a job in Boston working in a print shop. Eventually, I learned to set type. One day my employer caught me sketching. He thought I had talent, and he helped me start my own business sketching advertisements."

"Your own business! Is it your employer's birthday we're celebrating?"

"No ... our daughter's." Ella took another drag and waited for Thomas' reaction.

"Ella, I didn't know you were married!"

"I wasn't."

Ella watched as Thomas' brows knit. "He ... refused to marry you?"

"No, I never told him I was pregnant."

Thomas sat upright. "But ... why?" he sputtered. "Was he violent? Did he drink?"

"No."

Thomas pushed himself to his feet and backed away. "But Ella, that's awful! How could you?"

"You don't understand what it meant to be a woman back then, Thomas. When a woman married, she forfeited her identify."

"Not always, Ella! There have always been men who respected their wives."

"You mean I should have hoped for a benevolent dictator? I should have given up all my rights under the law?"

"Fine, have it your way. But you didn't have to marry him. You still could have told him!" Thomas stepped closer. "You could tell him now, Ella. Is he still alive?"

"I don't know."

"But you could find out. Where's your daughter now?"

"She's gone."

"Gone where?"

Ella did not respond.

"Ella ... you mean ... ?"

"She died a few days before her third birthday. Cholera."

"Oh, Ella ... no!"

"Do you still think I should tell her father?" Thomas sank onto the bench. He lifted his head and met Ella's gaze. She was shocked by the depth of feeling in his eyes. "I apologize, Thomas. I don't know why I said that."

"What was her name?"

"Sarah."

Thomas knocked the ash from his cigarette and leaned back next to Ella. "Happy birthday, Sarah." He took a drag from his cigarette.

Ella held up her cigarette. "Happy birthday, sweetheart." She took a drag.

The two sat in silence while they finished their cigarettes.

Ella was the first to speak. "Was it so terrible, what I did?"

"Perhaps not to some men. Some men would have preferred not to know."

"What do you think?"

"I think it was terrible."

"I wouldn't have expected a man like you to be interested in children."

"A man like me?"

"I could have sworn you were a confirmed bachelor, Thomas."

"You mean an auntie?"

An unbecoming snort escaped Ella's sombre face, destroying her dignity and relieving the tension between them. The two fell into a shared fit of laughter. "Do Vi and Addy still use that word?"

"They do. I thought I'd heard them all, but I never heard that one. Ella ... even an auntie like me can want children."

"To carry on your name?"

"I don't care about that."

"What then?"

Thomas shrugged. "There's something wonderful about a new life. Someone to protect and nurture. Someone to love without question."

"And to love you without question?"

"I suppose."

"I've known men like you who marry and have children."

"I know, but I can't father children. A doctor told me."

They sat in silence. Ella watched the young man as he reached up and touched a leaf on a branch dangling over their heads. "Another cigarette?"

Thomas shook his head. "Better not."

"It's your turn, Thomas. Do you have a secret you want to tell me?"

Thomas stared at Ella for a moment before speaking. "My brother."

"Yes?"

"He tells everyone we're half-brothers, but he made it all up."

"Why?"

"I was sick for a bit and have no family. He wanted a legal right to protect me, so he became my half-brother."

"He must be fond of you."

"Yes. He's married and has two children now, so I'm an uncle ... an auntie who's an uncle."

"So you have two children to love without question."

"That's right."

"And your secret is that he's not truly your brother?"

"No. That's a secret, but not the one I wanted to tell you."

"So ... tell me."

"I can't."

Ella watched the young man as he turned away. The poor lad. "That's all right, Thomas. I think I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Thomas turned to face Ella. "Then I'm glad I told you." And the two laughed.


	89. Stuff and Nonsense

**Chapter 89: STUFF AND NONSENSE**

 **The following afternoon**

 **Sitting Room  
Maison de Bennett**

Thomas was enjoying his days and nights as a gentleman in Paris. Sated by an excellent luncheon of gigot d'agneau, which had materialised as leg of lamb, he was enthroned now, with Bebe asleep at his feet, on an oddly comfortable contraption of metal tubing and fabric strips that Lady Bennett called a Wassily chair. The Dowager and Lady Bennett paced about his serene being and administered the third degree, and he enjoyed being the centre of their attentions. He assured his interrogators that Lady Ella was growing tired of Giroux's placid manner in spite of his impressive breadth of knowledge. (Thomas was careful to include Ella's title when he was alone with his ladies.) "If we're patient, Giroux will hand Lady Ella the silk rope with which to hang him."

Lady Bennett chuckled, but the Dowager could not fathom Ella's frustration with Giroux. "What is a gigolo's purpose if not to be obsequious?" she demanded.

"Lady Ella wants to push beyond her boundaries as an artist and was hoping he would inspire her," disclosed Thomas. "Who's better informed about art than Giroux?"

"So that's it!" exclaimed Lady Bennett. "Now I understand this absurd liaison. Ella hasn't lost her mind, only her judgment."

"Stuff and nonsense," declared the Dowager as she took a seat on the sofa. "Any artist with talent is able to create inspiration."

"I disagree, Vi," asserted Lady Bennett. "One doesn't create inspiration; inspiration is an impetus to create. Barrow's right. Ella will never be inspired by the likes of Giroux. He's a passionless intellectual for heaven's sake, about as inspiring as yesterday's mackerel."

As the Dowager considered Lady Bennett's line of reasoning, Brouette stepped into the sitting room and announced, "Mademoiselle Ella Coxley."

" _So_ ," noted Barrow to himself as he stood, " _even Brouette is unaware that Ella is a peeress. No doubt he believes her to be some indigent artist who visits Lady Bennett in hope of sponsorship._ "

Ella breezed into the room, not bothering to apologize for her unannounced visit. She was wearing a simple summer dress, and her unfettered silver curls bounced as she walked. Thomas felt the room vibrate with her energy. "What a beautiful day!" Ella proclaimed. "I hope you're feeling better, Vi, and will join us tonight. You have my permission to deliver her in her nightgown, Addy, if that's the only way."

The Dowager remained seated. "I'm afraid I need another day to recuperate, Ella, but Thomas will join you."

"My darling, I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone another night," protested Thomas dutifully.

"There's no better formula for a women to lose the interest of a man than to bore him, mon loulou. Have yourself some fun. Who knows when we'll be in Paris again. What time should he meet you, Ella?"

"As if I could be bored with you," interrupted Thomas. "Do I have no say in this at all, my darling?"

"None. Addy will stay with me, won't you Addy?"

"Certainly," replied Lady Bennett. "What are your plans for tonight, Ella?"

"I don't know. Lyle suggested we go to _Le Masque_ to see Foujita's sets and costumes, but Thomas won't be able to follow the dialogue."

"What a dreadful suggestion," smirked Lady Bennett. "Who but your Giroux would ask a non-French speaker to sit through a French adaptation of a Kabuki tragedy!"

"Now, Addy. He thought Thomas would appreciate the beauty of the production."

"That's an awful lot of beauty, Ella."

Embarrassed that he was the sole person in the room who could not understand at least one continental language, Thomas redirected the conversation. "Who's this Foujita?"

"He's a Japanese artist living in Paris ... or I should say, on the edges of Paris," replied Ella. "The lost generation has found money and is abandoning the city grit en masse. Addy, show Thomas your Foujita," she urged.

Lady Bennett directed Thomas to a framed pen and ink on the wall opposite the windows. The wall was filled with neatly arranged paintings, sketches, and photographs. "It was a gift. I was one of Foujita's first supporters in Paris."

Thomas examined the pen and ink. It was a drawing of three cats' faces. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that the centre cat wasn't a cat at all. It was Lady Bennett sketched with catlike features. The other cats were draped over her shoulders. He began to laugh and Lady Bennett and Ella joined in his mirth.

"Is it that terrible?" asked the Dowager from the sofa.

"No, Vi, it's tongue-in-cheek." replied Ella.

"Indeed," sniffed the Dowager.

"Do you have today's paper?" asked Ella. "There's a photo of Foujita with a description of the production."

Lady Bennett handed the newspaper to Ella, who found the page quickly. "That's him."

"Good lord!" Thomas had never seen such an idiosyncratic face. The man was obviously Japanese, but his straight hair was bowl cut. His eyebrows were arched over perfectly round, black spectacles, and he was further adorned with earrings and a tiny moustache.

Ella folded the paper and handed it back to Lady Bennett. "We can go wherever you like, Thomas. We don't have to decide now." Ella sat on the sofa next to the Dowager. "Vi, you're not truly ill, are you?"

The Dowager patted Ella's hand. "Not ill, Ella, only tired. Traveling exhausts me now."

Ella smiled. "Good. Then I'll expect you to join us tomorrow night, Vi. No excuses."

"No excuses," promised the Dowager.

'Now then, Vi, I have a favour to ask."

"Anything I have is yours, Ella. Ask away."

"Anything, Vi? Even Thomas? I'd like to borrow him this afternoon."

Lady Bennett chuckled. "You'll return him to Vi in an unused condition won't you?"

"Possibly."

"Do you two ever stop?" complained the Dowager, but Thomas could see she was delighted to be in the company of her cronies. She lightly touched her forehead and turned to Thomas. "I'm fatigued, dear boy. Why don't you go with Ella while I have a nap. Go, mon loulou. See Paris in the daylight."

"If you're going to nap, then I suppose there's no harm, my darling," agreed Thomas and gave the Dowager what he believed to be a respectable but affectionate kiss on the cheek.

Thomas turned his attention to Ella who was already waiting at the door. "I don't know where we're headed, Ella. Am I dressed properly?" Thomas was wearing one of his own suits – his best suit – and he thought he cut a fine figure. The purchase had been extravagant, but Santarelli had advised him to dress as well as he could afford when hosting events in Downton. He wanted to be, and tried to be, a modest man and follow Bates' irreproachable example; still, he could not help but hope for a compliment from one of these women.

Ella was oblivious to Thomas' sartorial elegance. "It doesn't matter what you're wearing. We better be off if we want to make the most of the afternoon."

* * *

 **A few minutes later**

 **Outside the Maison de Bennett**

"Do you mind walking?" asked Ella once they were outside. "It's a long walk to La Ruche, but it's such a beautiful day. It would be a shame to take a taxi."

"I don't mind," replied Thomas. "What's La Ruche?"

"In French, it means beehive. In Montparnasse, La Ruche is a beehive of artists. It's where I have my studio. I was hoping you would allow me to sketch you."

"You want me to sit for you? I'm flattered, Ella."

"What can I say? You inspire me."

The two walked together, and Ella pointed out this and that along their route.

"Where's Monsieur Giroux?" asked Thomas nonchalantly.

"He's returning some books to Shakespeare and Company."

"What's that? A library at the Sorbonne?"

"No, it's a bookshop, but the owner, Sylvia Beach, keeps a lending library there as well. Let's go tomorrow," suggested Ella. "I'd like to introduce you to Sylvia. Any writer in Paris will tell you that she's the most important woman in Paris. Well, any writer except Gertrude Stein."

"Who would Gertrude Stein say is the most important woman in Paris?"

"Gertrude Stein." Ella laughed heartily at her own joke.

Thomas enjoyed Ella's high-spirited, playful manner, that is, until a thought occurred to him that stopped him dead in his tracks. "Ella, you said it didn't matter what I wore."

"I believe that's what I said. Why?"

Thomas lowered his voice. "You weren't intending to have me pose nude, were you?"

Ella studied Thomas' uneasy expression for a moment. Then she responded in a conspiratorial whisper, "Why? Would that be a problem?"

"I couldn't possibly!"

"Why not? Do you have something I haven't seen? Three balls, perhaps?"

Thomas was shocked. He had never heard a woman speak so crudely, and this woman had been raised in the same genteel manner as the Dowager and Lady Bennett!

Ella looked at Thomas with large innocent eyes. "Monsieur Barrow, I do believe you're about to faint."

"Certainly not."

"I'm behaving badly, Thomas," apologized Ella without offering an ounce of remorse. "It doesn't matter what you wear because I want to sketch your face. Only your face."

"Oh."

"You're not disappointed are you? I could sketch you in the nude if you like."

"Perhaps another time ... when I've had a chance to count my balls first."

That was too much. The two broke down in riotous laughter while passers-by either stared or pretended not to notice. Now the two were dear friends, and Ella held Thomas' arm as they walked.

"We'll have to hurry now so I can finish sketching by 5.00."

"What happens at 5.00?" asked Thomas.

"A surprise for you, but I think you'll enjoy it."

"I like surprises as long as they're good ones."

"It will be a good one," promised Ella.


	90. SEND BATES NEXT FLIGHT STOP

**Chapter 90: SEND BATES NEXT FLIGHT STOP**

 **A half hour later**

 **La Ruche**

Thomas was impressed by the spring in Ella's step as they climbed the stairs to her third floor studio. It was difficult to believe that Ella was the same age, more or less, as the Dowager.

"It's stifling up here in the afternoon," remarked Ella as Thomas opened the door for her. "Feel free to remove your coat."

Thomas removed his coat and carefully draped it over a wooden chair that was well removed from Ella's paints and charcoals. Ella yanked a man's white shirt from a hook in the cupboard. It was stained and smudged and the cuffs had been cut off. She slipped the shirt over her dress and rolled up the sleeves to her elbows.

Thomas was feeling self-conscious. "Where do you want me?"

Ella gestured to a battered, overstuffed armchair. "Pull that chair to the centre of the room."

Thomas did as instructed. "Here?"

"Back about two feet. Right. Now angle it a bit. A bit more. Good. Now sit."

Thomas perched stiffly on the thick cushion.

"Good god. What are you doing?"

"I'm posing. Shouldn't I?"

"Please, the last thing I need is a posed model."

"Then what do I do with myself?"

Ella stepped in front of her easel. "Stand up."

Thomas stood obediently.

"Now imagine that Vi's gone out shopping and left you alone. How will the mouse play while the cat's away?"

Thomas grinned and plopped into the chair, hanging one long leg over the padded arm.

Ella laughed appreciatively. "That's more like it." She settled on the stool and selected a piece of charcoal. "I'm going to sketch your face for reference so I can work on a painting after you've returned to England.

"May I talk while you sketch?"

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

 **Later still**

 **A Taxi**

"47, rue des Acacias," Ella instructed the driver.

"What's there?" asked Thomas as Ella settled back in her seat.

"A thé dansant."

"A tea dance? That was your 5.00 surprise?" Thomas was disappointed. "We have tea dances in England."

"The surprise isn't the where or the what, it's the who."

"Fine. I can wait. I'm a patient man."

"Are you?" asked Ella.

"No!" The two laughed. "You know, Ella, you bewitched me today. I don't think I've ever rambled on and on about myself the way I did while you were sketching me."

"An artist always has a little magic up her sleeve to get what she wants from her model."

"I only hope I don't end up with my mouth on my backside and three noses."

"No, that's not my style."

"What is your style, Ella?"

Ella stared out the window. "That's what I hope to find out."

* * *

 **5.10 that afternoon**

 **The Acacia**

Baker sat at one of the tables that crowded the perimeter of the dance floor. As she cheerfully greeted fans and signed autographs, she kept an eye on the entrance for Ella. Ella had telephoned her late last night and asked that she meet a new acquaintance of hers, a young man from Yorkshire. Baker pretended to object – what could she possibly have to say to some dull British rube – but she knew she could never say no to Ella. She hadn't seen Ella since her recent publicity fiasco and was desperate to see a non-judgmental face. Ella would understand. How was Baker to know that an innocent joke about marrying her manager on her 21st birthday would erupt into a news story about America's first coloured countess? And how was she to know that Pepito was not really a count? And how did the newspapers find out that the two had never married?

Baker and Ella decided to meet at the Acacia where Baker sometimes performed before her show at the Folies Bergère. Baker waited impatiently until she caught sight of Ella and her little farmer boy and watched as they wound their way to her table. The little farmer boy was not so little, and he was sharply dressed for a rube. Baker could not deny that he was a handsome man, and he had the most charming silver streak in his thick black hair. As they came closer, Baker could see the handsome man's shock as he recognized her.

Ella greeted Baker with a kiss on each cheek. "Josephine, how good it is to see you." She tapped the centre of Baker's large spit curl. "I love this _._ Was it Pepito's idea?"

"Yes. He's making me over whether I like it or not."

Ella made the introductions. "Monsieur Thomas Barrow of Yorkshire, this is Mademoiselle Josephine Baker, of the Paris stage."

The handsome man extended his hand. "You need no introduction, Mademoiselle Baker. I'm terribly pleased to meet you."

Baker shook hands with the handsome man. "Please sit with me. I haven't seen Ella in ages."

The handsome man held a chair for Baker and turned to do the same for Ella, but she had already taken a seat. He sat between them.

"We took Monsieur Barrow to see your show last night."

"Did you? And what did you think?" Baker could guess the handsome man's response. He would talk about jungle rhythms or perhaps use the word primal or savage. He'd probably compare her to a jungle cat.

"You exploded with joy," the handsome man replied. "You made me so happy that I forgot myself. I wanted to dance in the aisles."

Baker was pleased by the handsome man's simple response. "And did you?"

"Dance in the aisles? No, no."

"Why not?"

"Because ... because I'm not Josephine Baker!"

Baker laughed congenially. She liked this handsome man. "Do you like to dance, Monsieur Barrow?"

The handsome man looked wistfully at the dance floor. "I'm good for an amateur in Yorkshire, but when I see professionals dance ..."

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you like to dance."

"I love to dance."

"Well? Aren't you going to invite me?"

Baker saw the handsome man glance at Ella who responded with a nod punctuated by her enormous smile. The handsome man stood. "Would you honour me with a dance, Mademoiselle Baker?"

The band was playing a tango. Baker did not know that the tango was the one dance in which the handsome man had been coached by a professional. While the other couples, each indistinguishable from the other, glided quickly in a genteel circle about the dance floor, the handsome man pulled Baker into the centre and danced with her slowly ... sensuously ... seductively. One or two couples stopped to watch, then another and another until only Baker and the handsome man were dancing. When the music ended, the other couples applauded and shouted Baker's name.

The handsome man escorted Baker to their table and held her chair for her.

"All these people assume that _I_ was responsible for that display, Monsieur Barrow."

The handsome man's face fell. "I beg your parson, Mademoiselle Baker. I didn't mean to make a spectacle of you. Please accept my apology."

Baker and Ella looked at each other and burst into good-natured laughter. Baker patted the handsome man's cheek. "I'll be making a spectacle of myself every day until I die, Monsieur Barrow. It's my business. Now tell me where you learned to dance like that."

"I had a few tango lessons last year in London. What I really want is to be able to Charleston like you."

"Then you must come to my club tonight – Chez Josephine – Ella knows it. You and Ella and Monsieur Giroux must come as my special guests."

The handsome man's eyes lit up, and Baker saw him glance again at Ella, who nodded her approval.

"I can't thank you enough, Mademoiselle Baker. I look forward to it."

Ella stood, and the handsome man stood as well. "Josephine, I must ring Lyle. You don't mind if I leave Monsieur Barrow to entertain you for a bit, do you?"

"You know where to find us, Ella."

Ella disappeared in search of a phone, and the handsome man took his seat.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle Baker, but may I ask you about the brooch on your shoulder that's holding your scarf?"

"Are you interested in fine jewellery, Monsieur Barrow?"

"Not usually, only I was wondering, is it a strawberry?"

"That's right."

"But it's blue."

"That's right. Sapphires and diamonds on a platinum setting. You'd be surprised at the stuff designers give me to promote themselves."

"But ... blue?"

"That's what makes it unusual ... what makes it memorable, Monsieur Barrow."

"I wonder if I might find something similar in rhinestones."

"Rhinestones!"

"I can't afford sapphires and diamonds."

Baker laughed, "Neither can I! Tell me, Monsieur Barrow, what is it that inspires your interest in strawberries?"

"My sister-in-law. I call her strawberries because ... well, I can't very well call her sweetheart in front of my brother."

Baker laughed. There was something appealing about this man besides his good looks.

The handsome man continued, "I'd like to give her something special. She puts up with a lot from me for my brother's sake. I think she would appreciate an unusual piece like that."

"You have good manners and good taste, Monsieur Barrow. You certainly don't seem like any farmer I've met."

The handsome man laughed, not unkindly. "What makes you think I'm a farmer?" he asked.

"Ella said you were from Yorkshire, and I assumed ..."

The handsome man laughed again. "Until recently, I was the butler on the country estate of an earl."

"You were a servant?"

"That's right."

Now it was Baker's turn to laugh. "That's funny, isn't it. I began life as a servant."

"In Paris?"

"No. In St. Louis."

"In the states?"

"That's right. I was only eight when I was sent to work for a white woman, Mrs Keiser. I lived in her basement with her dog. The law said I had to go to school, so I had to get up at 5.00 to get in all my morning chores."

The handsome man nodded his understanding. "I was thirteen when I went into service, but I had passed the leaving age for school."

"How were you treated?"

The handsome man shrugged.

"Mrs Keiser thought nothing of beating me. But it all ended one day when she thought I had used too much soap in the washing. She forced my hands into boiling water to punish me, but a neighbour heard me screaming." Baker saw that the handsome man was staring at her unscarred hands, and she slipped them onto her lap.

"You were lucky," remarked the handsome man.

"How can you say that to me? You think I was lucky to be beaten and burned?"

"You were lucky because someone heard your screams. Not all of us were so lucky."

Baker was about to ask if the handsome man was referring to himself, but he changed the subject. "How do you know Ella?" he asked.

Baker smiled. "I met her when I was first making a name for myself in Paris. I was eating at one of the better restaurants with some new friends when the waiter seated an American couple near our table. The woman saw me and wanted me removed from the premises. Americans can be like that, even in Paris."

"What did you do?"

"Before I had a chance to think, Ella, who was sitting behind the woman, picked up her plate and dumped her dinner all over the woman's dress. Then she got up and said, _I'm sorry, but I'm only a stupid white woman, and I don't know how to behave in public._ "

"That sounds like Ella!"

"The woman stormed out dragging her husband behind her, and everyone returned to their dinners as though nothing had happened. It turned out that Ella didn't have any idea who I was. I've adored her ever since."

"I don't wonder. Look, here she comes." The handsome man stood. "I was beginning to worry about you."

"No need. I had to wait for a free phone. I'm sorry, Josephine, but something's come up that requires my attention. We'll see you tonight, though, am I right Monsieur Barrow?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

"I'm counting on it," replied Baker. She turned to Ella and detected a hint of gloom beneath her bright smile. "There's nothing wrong, is there, Ella?"

The handsome man turned to Ella with concern. "Is there, Ella?"

"Nothing's wrong," assured Ella. "In fact, everything's about to become much more right."

* * *

 **That evening**

 **Dingo American Bar and Restaurant**

Thomas had been waiting outside the Dingo for fifteen minutes, dressed to the nines for their visit later that night to Chez Josephine. He wondered if he should go inside and grab a table. He was irritated with himself for not having his taxi pick up Ella, but she had insisted that she had some important business to settle and would meet him at the bar. He was about to go in search of a telephone to ring her when he caught sight of Giroux on the other side of the street and waved. Giroux waved back and crossed the street to meet him.

"Where's Ella," asked Thomas.

"You don't know then?"

"Know what?" Thomas held his breath. Had something happened to Ella?

"That Ella's given me my walking papers."

Relief washed over Thomas. That must have been her important business. "I had no idea. I'm sorry."

"I don't understand what happened. I was a perfect gentleman."

Thomas felt a bit sorry for the man. "Perhaps Ella prefers a gentleman who's a little less perfect."

"She said as much. In fact, she mentioned you."

"Me?" Thomas laughed, but Giroux was not amused. Giroux stared at Thomas intently until Thomas understood the implied accusation. "Monsieur Giroux, certainly you don't think Ella has an interest in me? I've done nothing to encourage such a thing!"

Giroux's intense gaze softened, and he chuckled. "I was only joking, Monsieur Barrow. I suppose I must say goodbye to you now. I understand that you'll be going back to England soon. I doubt our paths will cross again. I did enjoy getting to know you."

"Likewise, Monsieur Giroux."

"You must permit me to buy you a farewell drink."

Thomas hesitated. Ella had probably gone home to change her clothes after leaving Giroux and would arrive any minute.

Giroux seemed to read Thomas' mind. "I promise not to cause a scene. I'll leave the instant Ella arrives. Come, Monsieur Barrow, let's drink a toast Paris."

Thomas smiled. "All right. One toast to Paris."

The pair stepped inside and approached the bar. Giroux called to a chubby-cheeked barman. "Jimmie, Perrier-Jouët." He held up two fingers and the barman nodded. "Thomas Barrow, this is Jimmie Charters, a countryman of yours."

"Oh?"

"I'm from Liverpool," clarified the barman as he poured their champagne.

Thomas nodded. "I'm from Manchester, but I live in Yorkshire now."

"Jimmy used to be a boxer," reported Giroux, "but now he prefers to contribute to the delinquency of the lost generation. Isn't that right, Jimmy."

Jimmy smiled pleasantly. "Whatever you say, Monsieur Giroux."

Giroux paid Jimmy for the champagne and lifted his glass. "To Paris and all her charms."

Thomas lifted his glass. "To Paris."

At that moment, Thomas heard a commotion and turned to see a fight breaking out near the entrance between two large ruffians. They were speaking French, and the larger of the two spoke in a peculiar high-pitched, nasal whine that did not suit his size. A third man, whom Thomas took to be the bouncer, managed to separate the brawlers and pushed first one and then the other out the door.

Giroux laughed. "The perfect divertissement for a toast in a Parisian bar! I couldn't have asked for anything better if I had planned it myself."

Thomas turned back to Giroux, and the two men clinked glasses and drank their champagne.

"Where will you go now?" asked Thomas.

"I may stay in Paris. I'm interested in the surrealism movement."

Thomas pulled at his collar which was feeling too snug. "What the hell is surrealism, anyway? First there was Dadaism, and I thought I understood that. Now surrealism seems to be exactly the same."

Giroux laughed. "Don't let a surrealist hear you say that."

Thomas looked about to see if any surrealists were listening, but no one seemed to be paying him any mind. He was feeling hot and a bit dizzy, but turned his attention back to Giroux. "So what's the difference?" he demanded.

That was all the coaxing Giroux required. He spoke in his usual passionless way of Duchamp and Miro and automatic writing and the _Manifeste du surréalisme_. Thomas tried to grasp what Giroux was saying, but the lights and Giroux's words were growing dim.

Thomas heard Giroux's voice in his ear. "You're looking a bit green, my friend." He felt Giroux's arm about his waist. "Jimmie, you should toss out that bottle. My friend and I aren't feeling too well." He felt Giroux's arm tighten and heard his voice again in his ear. "Let's get some fresh air." With Giroux's help, Thomas stumbled outside and into the black.

* * *

 **The next morning**

 **The Servants' Hall**  
 **Grantham House**

Bates was starving. He was always starving after his early morning session at the pool. Before Thomas left for Paris, he had arranged for his friend, Garland Jobin, to continue with the swimming lessons. Initially, Bates was embarrassed to be instructed by a stranger, but the little man was an excellent teacher and never remarked on the advanced age of his pupil. Bates could not wait to show Thomas that, in only two sessions, Garland had taught him to float on his stomach and even swim a few sloppy strokes.

Bates had no sooner taken his seat next to Anna than one of the local hires, a gawky lad of 13 by the name of Oscar, tapped him on the shoulder.

"Miss Childs says the boss wants you in his dressing room. Right away she says."

"Lord Grantham, not the boss," corrected Bates gently. He turned to Anna and gave her a wink before heading to the stairs.

Bates found Lord Grantham in his pyjamas and robe. He was pacing and holding a telegram which he shoved at Bates. "I just received this from my mother. I don't know anything more than what it says."

Bates pulled his glasses from his pocket and read the telegram.

BARROW MISSING STOP SEND BATES NEXT FLIGHT STOP TELEGRAPH ARRIVAL TIME STOP WILL MEET HIM


	91. Maintenant!

**Chapter 91: MAINTENANT!**

 **The next morning**

 **An undisclosed location**

The blackness fell away, and Thomas opened his eyes. He slammed them shut against the brightness of the day. He wanted water to sooth his throat, but he could not free himself from his bedclothes. He cursed and squinted to focus his eyes, and they landed on two Goliaths peering at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Thomas croaked.

"Silence!" snapped the smaller of the two in that way the French pronounce it.

"What are you doing in my room?" Thomas demanded.

The larger of the two mimicked Thomas in French. Thomas could not mistake his shrill nasal voice. These were the two who had caused the disturbance at the Dingo last night. He could remember Jimmie pouring champagne; he could remember these two behemoths fighting; he could remember touching glasses with Giroux and drinking. That was all he could remember.

The fog left Thomas' brain. He was not in his comfortable bed in his comfortable room at Maison de Bennett with Brouette only a bell-pull away. Rather he was tied with rough twine to a wooden chair in the corner of what seemed to be a cramped hotel room.

The larger man placed his booted foot on the chair seat between Thomas' legs and tilted the chair backward. Thomas pulled his head forward so it would not hit the floor when the chair fell. The man removed his foot, and the chair fell forward with a thud.

Thomas shouted for help. The larger man made a fist and brought it down sharply on top of Thomas' head. He did not hit with all his strength, but it was enough to shut Thomas up. The smaller man retrieved a pistol and brought it to Thomas' nose. The consequence of shouting was well-communicated.

In as mild a manner as Thomas could manage, he asked, "Do you speak English?"

"L'anglais?" The two men guffawed, and the smaller Goliath, still holding the gun to Thomas' nose, gave the chair a kick. He said something which Thomas gathered was not particularly flattering to the British.

Much to Thomas' relief, the two men left him and sat down to a card game. Judging by the empty wine bottles scattered about and the half-eaten baguettes and charcuterie, the men had been playing for some time. While the two played, Thomas tested his restraints. His arms had been tied securely to the sides of the chair and his hands along the back legs. He could not budge so much as a finger. He looked about the room and saw Lord Bennett's evening links and his wallet, still fat with Lady Bennett's money, sitting on the chest of drawers. His ladies did not know his circumstances. So far as they knew, he had simply disappeared. Would they think he had betrayed their trust?

The day creeped along. Thomas listened to the two men banter. He deduced that the larger man's name was Guy and the smaller man's name was Roch. Guy and Roch played cards, read and argued over the newspaper, and took turns napping. Every so often the telephone rang, and Guy always answered and spoke in a business-like manner. The two men ordered food and wine by telephone and paid the delivery boy with Lady Bennett's money. They shared none of their bounty with Thomas. Roch made a point of dragging over a chair and stuffing his mouth almost nose-to-nose with Thomas.

As the sun was setting, Guy began to check the clock on the mantle. When the clock reached the designated hour, he nodded to Roch, who stood in front of Thomas with a grin and the pistol. Guy picked up the phone and flirted with the operator. Once he was connected to his party, his tone turned stony. After a few sharp words, he brought the handset to Thomas. "Parle!" he commanded and punctuated his message with a rough slap.

Thomas nodded. "Hullo? This is Thomas Barrow. Who's this?"

"Thomas, thank heavens! Have they hurt you?" There was no mistaking the Dowager's voice.

"No, but ..." Thomas wanted to warn the Dowager to be suspicious of Giroux, but Guy was too fast for him and yanked the phone away. The Dowager's voice had never sounded so sweet, but Thomas was determined not to let his emotions get the better of him.

Night became day and then night again. One of the men always remained awake with the pistol nearby. The summer heat never left the room, and Thomas' clothes were stuck to him, and his skin itched. Guy and Roch lounged about in their underclothes but did not permit Thomas to remove even his coat.

The only time Thomas was released from his chair was to use the WC. Initially, Roch wanted to refuse Thomas the privilege, but Guy gave the situation some consideration. He spoke quietly to Roch and grimaced. Perhaps he was suggesting that if their captive were to wet or soil himself, then the room would become disagreeable for the two of them.

Thomas had hoped for a window in the WC, but there was none. At least there was a sink. Each time he was permitted a visit, he cupped his hands under the running water and tried to quench his thirst. Afterward, he was ushered back to the hard chair with the pistol at his back and tied with fresh twine. He tried not to wince as the twine cut into his raw wrists.

It was late the second night when the phone rang. The call excited Guy. He conveyed the conversation to Roch, and they congratulated each other and sang a French song that Thomas did not know. They placed an order over the phone, and this time the delivery included two bottles of cognac. They ate little and drank heavily while Thomas sat in the corner willing himself to be invisible. Who knew what these two might do in their drunken state. Eventually, the two men blacked out, first Roch on the bed and then Guy in the WC. Thomas could see Guy's legs protruding from the door. Thomas was not convinced of his good fortune until he heard their vigorous snores. It was the first time Roch and Guy had left him unsupervised.

Yelling for help was not an option. There was too great a chance it would rouse the snoring men. Thomas had another idea. He leaned far forward in his chair so that his feet were firmly planted on the floor but the chair legs were in the air. He had thought of working his way to the door. He was certain that he could press the handle down with his chin, but he had seen Roch latch the door after paying the delivery boy. The latch was affixed too high for Thomas to reach.

Instead, Thomas inched his way towards the telephone. Two days of captivity had left Thomas in a miserable state. He had to set down the chair every so often to rest. He could not see the clock, but he guessed it had taken him thirty minutes to work his way the short distance to the phone. It took several more minutes for him to position himself so that he could crane his neck and take hold of the handset with his teeth and lips. He made three attempts before he was certain that his grip was tight enough. If he were to drop the handset on the floor, it would the end of him. He removed the handset from the cradle and set it on the table. He set back in his chair and rested a moment before craning his neck again to tap the switch hook. He hoped the hotel operator was on duty all night.

A man's voice came over the handset. "Réception."

"Do you speak English?" Thomas asked in a hushed voice.

"No, Monsieur."

Thomas remembered the phrase, "Je voudrai". Customers at restaurants and bars always began their requests with that phrase. "Je voudrai the police," he begged.

"La police, Monsieur?" The reception clerk matched Thomas' muted voice.

"Oui! La police! I'm Thomas Barrow. Thomas BĂ-row. Hurry! Please, help me! Uh ... Maintenant!" Thomas had heard that word yelled in Paris, always with impatience. He hoped it meant what he thought it did.

"Oui, Monsieur. Thomas Barrow. La police. Maintenant!"

The clerk ended the call, and Thomas took hold of the handset in his mouth and carefully returned it to the cradle. It was not sitting right, but Guy would probably think that was how he left it. Thomas began to work his way back to the corner. He breathed more easily now that the police were on their way. Then a dreadful thought occurred to him. What if the reception clerk did not know from what room he had telephoned? How many rooms were in this hotel? Thomas sat back to rest, and his chair tapped the edge of the table. Three wine bottles rolled off the table in quick succession and exploded on the hard floor. Thomas froze, but the two men did not move.

Thomas redoubled his efforts to reclaim his corner. He was wondering if the police would take the trouble to search the entire hotel in the middle of the night. He was preparing to manoeuvre himself into his corner when he felt a hand grab a fistful of his hair.

* * *

 **Another Undisclosed Location**

Bates knew nothing of sailing, but he had to find Thomas and refused to dwell on the difficulties of the situation. He looked up and saw that the sail was flapping in the breeze. No, that was no sail; it was Rose! She was hanging onto the mast with both hands, her long hair and gown rippling in the breeze. Bates cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Rose, come down! I need you!"

Bates watched as the breeze died and Rose wrapped her legs around the mast and slid down to the deck. "That was fun, John! Come do it with me!"

"Not now, Rose. I have to tell you something."

"We can do both," Rose assured him.

In a blink, Bates and Rose were both holding onto the mast. They both fluttered in the wind. Bates felt elated as the wind sent his troubles flying. But he did have troubles; of that, he was certain. He forced himself to grab hold of the mast with his legs (his legs always worked well when he was with Rose), and he slid down the mast. That was exhilarating, too.

Rose followed Bates to the deck. "Why did you stop?"

Bates' mind was blank. "I can't remember, but it was a matter of life and death."

Rose showered Bates with her musical laugh. "Life and death? That's our song, John."

Bates laughed. Rose always made him happy.

"What are you doing on this boat, John?"

Bates purpose came back to him, and the weight of it was almost too much for him. "Rose, I've done something terrible. I've lost Thomas."

Rose came closer. Bates thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her voice had the haunting sound of an oboe. "I gave you my son, and you lost him?"

"He's a grown man, Rose. I can't be with him every minute."

"It's not the grown man who concerns me, John. You love the man; I love the boy."

"What do you mean? They're the same person."

"John! Listen to me!" The wind began to pick up, and Rose billowed, growing larger as her gown filled with air. "Save the boy or the man won't survive."

"Rose, I don't understand."

"You have time. Figure it out."

"I don't have time! Thomas could be dead."

He's not dead, John. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"If he were dead, he'd be with me!" Rose floated towards the sky.

Bates cupped his hands again and shouted. "Rose, where do I look? Rose! Rose!" He jumped and tried to grasp a corner of her gown. His entire body jerked, and he opened his eyes.

Bates had fallen asleep reading a book from Lady Bennett's library. Waiting for news of Thomas had been unbearable, and until that moment, sleep had evaded him. Thank god for Brouette. As amends for her unwitting role in Thomas' kidnapping, Lady Bennett was allowing Brouette to devote his time to Bates. They had spent hours playing cards, talking nonsense, and taking walks. They never walked far from the house in case there was news.

Bates slipped his reading glasses into his breast pocket. _Save the boy or the man won't survive. What the hell does that mean?_ He walked to the bathroom and washed his face. Perhaps Rose was right. Perhaps Thomas was alive, but he could be suffering. Even if he were alive, there was no guarantee he would remain alive. Inspector Martel had pulled Bates aside that first day and said that the longer Thomas was missing the less likely they would find him alive.

Bates felt hot tears run down his cheeks, and he washed his face again. An urgent knock called him from the bathroom. "Monsieur Bates?" Brouette stuck his head in the door. "Monsieur Bates, the police telephoned. They may have found him."


	92. No Need for Dramatics

**Chapter 92: NO NEED FOR DRAMATICS**

 **A moment later**

 **The Room**

Roch dragged Thomas across the room by his hair, muttering in French. Thomas' eyes watered, but he was helpless to wipe the tears as they dripped. Roch halted at the WC where Guy was sprawled on the floor. He extracted his fingers from Thomas' hair and turned the chair so that he and Thomas were face-to-face. He saw Thomas' wet face, and it struck him as hilarious. He kicked Guy's feet, but Guy refused to rouse. He kicked again and pretended to be Thomas, sobbing and begging for mercy with great theatricality. Now Guy was interested.

Guy pushed himself to his feet and wiped a tear from Thomas' face with a dirty finger. He studied the tear. He studied Thomas. He punched Thomas in the face ... in the eye, to be exact. Guy did not punch with all his strength ... Thomas suspected that Guy rarely gave maximum effort to anything ... but the wallop was enough for Thomas to see stars. The two men watched Thomas expectantly, but Thomas remained silent.

The two men separated. Guy strolled by Thomas, turned, and gave him a kick in the ribs. The kick took away Thomas' breath for a few moments, but he tried not to panic. _At least he wasn't wearing his boots._ Unconcerned with Thomas' condition, Roch again took a fistful of hair and dragged Thomas after Guy. The pair's boozy recklessness filled Thomas with dread. He could no longer manage his fear, so he did something he had not done in years. He began to recite.

 _The Old Sea-dog at the "Admiral Benbow". Squire Trelawney, Dr Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island ..._

Thomas was not surprised that he remembered the words. By the time he was 16, he could have recited any piece of the book. Guy and Roch quieted for a moment to listen. Then they howled, falling over each other as they mocked Thomas. _The fools think I'm praying_.

Guy opened the window and looked down. Thomas hoped Guy would see a policeman, perhaps even a police car, and escape the room while he had the chance, taking Roch with him. Instead he turned to Thomas and sneered. He said something to Roch, and the two men hoisted Thomas and his chair into the air and tilted him out the window. Thomas could feel the toes of his shoes hooked over the sill. He looked down at the street, but it was deserted. He guessed they were three stories up, certainly far enough for his head to be smashed when it hit the pavement. He felt the twine digging into him. Up to now, the twine had been his enemy. Now he prayed for it to hold.

 _So this is how it will end for me._ Thomas closed his eyes and tried to picture something comforting. Bates. Bates with that half-smile of his; that inscrutable smile. _Must I die without ever telling my Bonnie John how much I love him?_ He thought of Anna and Timothy and Emilia. He would never see Anna sell her first dress ... never see Timothy play American baseball ... never see Emilia graduate from university. "She _will_ go to university," he declared defiantly to The Fates who had brought him so low.

The chair began to shake. Thomas did not know if Guy and Roch were trying to torment him further or losing their grip on the chair. _I'm coming, Mum. Will you know me with a bashed in head?_ He tried to block out Guy and Roch's riotous taunts. Then another voice found its way to Thomas. A woman's voice. A cheerful voice. "No need for dramatics, Mr Frog," the voice scolded lightly. "Open your eyes, Tadpole." Thomas opened his eyes. Below stood two policeman looking at house numbers. Thomas took as deep a breath as his bruised ribs would allow and shouted, "Here I am! Thomas Barrow! Help me!"

Immediately, Roch and Guy jerked Thomas and his chair inside, bouncing his mouth off the edge of the telephone table. Thomas felt his mouth fill with blood, but what did he care. His kidnappers were about to beat a hasty retreat, and that was all that mattered. Thomas looked at his two wardens, but they seemed perfectly calm ... irritated but calm. Did these fools not have the sense to understand why Thomas had shouted?

Thomas would set them straight. "The police are coming! La police! La police!" Thomas tried to enunciate, but he spat blood when he spoke.

Guy and Roch were beside themselves now. "La police! La police!" they shouted in feminine voices as they pranced about the room.

"Imbeciles!" grumbled Thomas. The two men froze.

"Imbéciles?" snarled Roch. He took hold of the pistol and pointed it at Thomas. "Suis-je un imbécile maintenant?"

Guy was not too drunk to realise that shooting a gun in a hotel room was a bad idea. "Roch! Arrête!"

Roch swung the gun towards Guy. Guy picked up his large stockinged foot and kicked Roch's hand away, but the gun fired. For a single blessed second, Thomas thought Guy had been hit. But there Guy stood gaping at him. He followed Guy's gaze to the tear in his own sleeve and the blood that was beginning to seep through. Then came the pain. The searing pain.

Roch stood in a stupor. Guy approached Thomas to inspect the damage. That was the moment the police chose to pound at the door. Guy threw Thomas, chair and all, out of his way, landing Thomas on his left side. Thomas felt a sharp pain in his hand and heard his head hit the floor. Blackness swallowed him.


	93. Baby Face

**Chapter 93: BABY FACE**

 **Two hours later**

 **The American Hospital in Paris**  
 **Private Waiting Room**

"Monsieur Bates, the coffee is here."

Bates turned from the window but avoided looking directly into Ella's sad eyes. "As I've told you, milady, it's Bates," he responded gruffly. "Simply Bates."

"Won't you have some coffee with us, Bates? The Inspector will return soon, and you'll want a clear head," replied Ella. "And as I've told you, it's Ella," she added gently. "Simply Ella."

Bates knew his behaviour was spiteful, but he could not help himself. He did not feel comfortable waiting with the Dowager and her friends, not because of his station but because of his anger. He poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the window where he gazed at the early morning traffic.

The door opened and Inspector Martel entered with a uniformed police officer. The Inspector's English was sufficient, but he spoke with a thick accent, and Bates had to concentrate to understand him. "Sorry for ze wait. I take ze statement from Monsieur Barrow. So many doctors. Zey push me zis way an' zat." The Inspector turned to Bates. "Monsieur Bates, zis is Officer Cale Tremble. Tremble was ze first to find your brozer, an' 'e want to meet you."

Tremble's broad grin filled Bates with resentment. "Does he think this is funny?"

A shadow crossed the Inspector's face. "Monsieur Bates, you do not understand. A day zat Tremble finds ze victim alive is a good day. Tremble 'as many bad days."

Bates felt his cheeks burn. "I beg your pardon, Inspector Martel. That was insensitive of me. Please tell Officer Tremble that I appreciate his rescuing my brother, and I would like to shake his hand."

The Inspector translated and Tremble offered his hand, which Bates shook firmly. Tremble spoke excitedly in French and jerked his hand upward a couple of times. Bates looked to the Inspector for the meaning of the odd gesture.

"Tremble says 'e find your brozer's teez on ze floor. 'e push ze teez back where zey belong."

"Are you saying my brother's teeth were knocked out?"

"Oui, Monsieur Bates. Ze two in front. Ze doctor say ze teez may ... _attach_ because Tremble was quick!"

Bates could not help but wince. "Please thank him again."

The Inspector translated. Tremble grinned and nodded and excused himself from the room.

The Inspector turned to the three women. "Monsieur Barrow is glad zat you come. 'e ask zat you go now.

"We'll do no such thing," objected the Dowager.

"Monsieur Barrow is ... _ashamed_ zat 'e is so ... _ugly_ ," explained the Inspector.

"Vi," chided Lady Bennett, "the least we can do is honour the man's wishes. He's only asking for a little time to recover from the worst of it."

The Dowager rose from her seat. "You're right, Addy. This is not the time for me to win an argument. We'll be on our way, Inspector."

Lady Bennett stood. "Bates, we'll take a taxi and leave Dubois and the car at your disposal."

"Thank you, milady."

Ella turned to Bates as though to speak, changed her mind, and left with the others.

The Inspector waited for the women to leave and handed a paper to Bates. Bates slipped on his reading glasses and opened the paper. It was Thomas' statement. Bates sat and read the paper slowly, absorbing every word. It was a cold, objective narrative of the last two days as Thomas had experienced them, devoid of the anguish he must have felt as the hours passed. Bates pressed his fingers to his forehead. Thomas had been strong. Would he have managed half as well? He returned the paper to the Inspector. "May I see him now?"

"Yes, but ..."

"But what?" asked Bates. He felt his stomach turn over.

"I do not mean to frighten you, Monsieur Bates. It is only ..." The inspector chuckled. "I could not make your brozer understand zat you be here. 'e insists you be in England."

* * *

 **Late that same morning**

 **Lady Bennett's Car**

Bates expression was grim. It had been grim when Thomas first saw him at the hospital, and it was grim now. Thomas knew what was coming. A lecture. A lecture on the consequences of playing games with other people's lives. So what if Bates was angry with him? He had come all the way from England when his little brother was in trouble, and that was what counted.

There were so many things Thomas had intended to say to Bates if he were to survive the kidnapping, but once they were face-to-face, all he could manage was, "Take me home, John." Bates did not reply; he merely nodded. Thomas could hear Bates negotiating his release with the English-speaking doctor in charge of his case. After much debate, the doctor relented. The hospital chemist gathered bandages, laudanum, and salve, and wrote out the discharge instructions in English.

Now Bates sat in the car with one hand gripping the sack from the chemist and the other supporting Thomas by his uninjured arm. He spoke his first words to Thomas in the car. "Close your eyes, Pooh, and sleep if you like. I'll wake you when we arrive."

 _Pooh. How angry can he be if he's calling me Pooh?_ Thomas closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but just as he drifted off, he jerked himself awake. He had not allowed himself to sleep for two days and was having difficulty adjusting to his change of situation. He closed his eyes again and ran his tongue along his front teeth to feel the wire holding them in place. Thomas had been surprised when a dentist came to the hospital in the wee hours to treat him. The Inspector told him that it was Lady Bennett's doing. She held a position of influence in Paris that Thomas had not fully appreciated.

* * *

 **A short time later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Room**  
 **Maison de Bennett**

Bates set down the sack and Old Ram. "Brouette, would you give us a few minutes alone?"

"Certainly, Monsieur Bates. I'll fetch some lemonade for Monsieur Barrow."

"Please," Thomas croaked. "A pitcher."

Brouette nodded and closed the door behind him.

Thomas was utterly exhausted and had no idea what he should do next. He would leave that to Bates. Bates began to unbutton Thomas' dinner jacket that never had its Charleston with Josephine Baker. "I don't know why you insisted on wearing your waistcoat and jacket in the car on such a hot day." Thomas shrugged. Bates would discover soon enough the scent of two days' perspiration under his clothes. But Bates made no comment, not even when Thomas was down to his shirtsleeves. He simply unbuttoned his own coat and gazed at Thomas for a moment. "I didn't want to embarrass you, so I waited until we were alone," he began.

 _Here it comes_ , thought Thomas. _The lecture. Am I not even allowed to sit first?_

"I'm sorry," continued Bates, "but this is something I must do." Bates slipped his hands under Thomas' arms and gingerly embraced him. "Am I hurting you?"

"What does it matter?" Thomas surrendered his weight to Bates' broad chest and round belly. Here was a man who would have truly mourned for him, who would have shed honest tears for him and deeply felt the loss of the friend he called little brother. For a moment, Thomas felt lifted out of his pain.

Reassured, Bates pulled Thomas as close as he could, one hand on his back and the other cradling his head. "I thought I might never ..."

"Don't. Please." Thomas could feel Bates nod his head in agreement. He could feel Bates press his clean-shaven cheek against his own bristle. "Iskies," joked Thomas. He could feel a chuckle bubble up from Bates' belly, and it made him happy. He clung to Bates as long as he could, but the dehydration and concussion won out. "John, I have to sit."

Thomas sat on the bed, and Bates sat next to him. "Pooh, there's something I must say."

 _So, there's a lecture after all._

"I know you dislike it when I fuss, but I sat here for two days waiting and helpless. Today, I'm going to fuss. Tomorrow, too, so you may as well resign yourself to it."

Thomas smiled inwardly because smiling outwardly with three stitches under his lip was too painful. "I'll try to bear it." He began to unbutton his shirt, but he had a hairline fracture in his left hand, and his right hand was all thumbs.

"What did I tell you, Pooh? I'll do it."

As Bates unbuttoned the shirt, Thomas realized he was missing Lord Bennett's cuff links and began to panic. "Where are the links? Where's my wallet? Where's Lady Bennett's money?"

"Don't worry, Pooh. The police have everything. Everything's fine."

Thomas nodded. At the hospital, the Inspector had informed him that Giroux was in jail. He promised that he would explain everything to Thomas in a day or two, after he'd had a chance to sleep and recover.

A light knock sounded at the door. "I have the lemonade," called Brouette.

Bates opened the door, and Brouette set down the tray and poured a tall glass for Thomas. Thomas downed the glass quickly, not caring that he could not quite control his lip and was dribbling lemonade down his neck and chest. "More, please."

Brouette and Bates laughed, and Brouette poured a second glass. Thomas downed the second glass as quickly as the first and ran his uninjured hand over his mouth. "It's good, John. Have some."

"Later, perhaps. What do you want first, Pooh? Food or sleep?"

"A bath. Please, John."

"Whatever you want, Pooh."

"But Monsieur Bates, the bandages ..."

"My brother may have whatever he wants today, and he wants a bath. I'll take care of the bandages."

"His skin. It will be sensitive to hot water."

Thomas looked down at his chest. His unbuttoned white shirt framed his irritated pink skin.

"A bath needn't be hot," replied Bates. "A warm bath will refresh him just as well."

"Lady Bennett keeps a supply of Pears soap. I'll bring you a bar. It will be kinder to you, Monsieur Barrow." Thomas nodded. Brouette picked up Thomas' ruined dinner jacket. "I'll take care of this, too."

Bates prepared the bath, and Brouette returned in short order with an unopened bar of Pears. He helped Thomas into the tub. There was nothing wrong with Thomas' legs, but he was stiff and clumsy. Brouette placed a chair next to the tub for Bates. Bates asked Brouette to bring lunch after a bit.

"I can't chew," apologised Thomas.

"Chef will know what to prepare, Monsieur Barrow. Lord Bennett had several bad teeth pulled a few years ago, but Chef kept him satisfied."

Thomas nodded and closed his eyes.

"He's falling asleep, Monsieur Bates."

"That's all right. I'm right here," assured Bates.

"I'll get the little brother's lunch."

 _Little brother_ , thought Thomas. _That's cheeky_. Then he heard Bates call, "Brouette?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know how I could have managed these two days without you."

"We older brothers must help each other," replied Brouette.

Thomas heard the door shut. He felt irritated with himself and wondered why he was always thinking the worst of people. He was soothed by the sound of splashing water and Bates' voice and the herbal scent of the soap.

* * *

Thomas found himself sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in towels. Bates, in his shirtsleeves now, brought another towel from the bathroom. "Feeling better?"

"Much."

Bates draped the towel over Thomas' head. Thomas liked the peaceful solitude under the towel. He felt Bates' broad hands spread across the towel to dry his hair. Thomas allowed himself to lean forward and rest the uninjured side of his face against Bates' belly.

"I can't rub too vigorously, Pooh. I'm afraid your poor noggin will come right off in my hands."

"I know."

"Do you want a shave today or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

Bates changed the bandage on Thomas' arm and replaced the towels with a robe. Brouette arrived with a cart and set out lunch while Bates changed the bandages where the twine had rubbed Thomas' skin raw. He gently pulled the wet glove from Thomas' left hand and pulled on a fresh one. The doctor had thought the close-fitting glove was preferable to a splint.

"I'll change the bandage under your lip after you eat, Pooh."

Brouette pulled the food-ladened table away from the chairs so that Thomas could sit easily. "Chef thought you could manage some fish. He strained the mushrooms out of the sauce."

Thomas had been given only soup at the hospital and could not hold himself back. Manners be damned. He ate as quickly as his poor mouth could manage, which was not quick enough to suit him. Brouette pointed out a separate dish to Bates that contained sauce with mushrooms included. Bates peeked under the various cloches. "Brouette, there's enough food here to feed the cavalry and its horses. Grab that chair from the bathroom and sit down with us and eat."

Thomas looked up from his plate to voice his agreement but choked on his last bite. Bates clapped his back a few times. "Slow down, little brother. No one's going to take it away from you." He leaned close to Thomas' ear. "It does my heart good to see you eat with appetite, Pooh."

Thomas nodded and coughed to clear his throat.

Bates returned his attention to Brouette. "We're two butlers and a valet. Sit down and eat. Or are you too good for us?"

"I'm not too good for this food." The two men laughed, and Thomas nodded. Brouette joined the table and served himself on a bread plate. He asked about _this Pooh name_. Bates explained about Winnie-the-Pooh as he scooped peas onto Thomas plate and mashed them a bit with his fork. Thomas devoured them.

When the three men were sated, Brouette stood. "The cavalry's no match for us. Are you ready for dessert, Monsieur Barrow? Chef made some peach ice. He thought it would numb the pain a bit ... the pain in your mouth."

"Ready!" answered Thomas.

Brouette left with the cart. Thomas took another sip of lemonade, sat back, and closed his eyes.

"You're ready to drop, Pooh. You don't have to stay awake for the ice if you're too tired."

"I want it! I've earned it!"

Bates laughed. Thomas heard him walk to the chest of drawers and back. "Tilt your head up a bit, Pooh."

Thomas opened his eyes and lifted his chin.

Bates combed Thomas' hair. "I know you always want to be at your prettiest," he teased.

Thomas gazed at Bates. He knew Bates would be honest with him. "John ... am I ugly now?"

Bates' features tightened. "You ask me that now when you're lucky to be alive!"

Thomas hung his head. He knew Bates was not a vain man, but he would have the same concerns if his teeth had been knocked out and his face had been stitched.

Bates placed a finger lightly under Thomas' chin. "Look at me, Pooh." Thomas raised his head. "Well, you're no beauty today. What you need is a good beauty sleep." Thomas averted his gaze. "I'm serious, Pooh. After the swelling and the black and blue are gone, all you'll have is a small scar under your lip."

"And missing teeth."

"They're not missing, Pooh. And if they don't take, you can always have a bridge done."

* * *

Thomas found himself sitting again on the edge of the bed. The peach ice had been wonderfully refreshing. Sadly, he had to dispel the lingering flavour with the prescribed salt water rinse. While he was still in the bathroom relieving himself, he heard Bates speaking to Brouette in the bedroom.

"I'm going to apply the salve now. You should go, Brouette. I don't want to embarrass him with an audience. He had enough of that at the hospital."

Now Thomas was waiting on the bed while Bates was washing his hands.

"John, where are my pyjamas?"

"The salve first, Pooh. Didn't you hear the doctor say that your skin might recover more quickly if you sleep naked?"

Thomas shook his head.

"It's up to you. Do you want pyjamas?"

"It won't bother you if I sleep without?" Thomas asked.

Bates chuckled. "No, Pooh, it won't bother me. I want you to be comfortable." Bates pulled back the covers and slipped off Thomas' robe. Thomas lay flat on his back, naked and exposed on the silky sheets. He felt as though every pore in his body were taking large, gulping breaths of air.

Bates smiled. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"You have no idea." Thomas watched Bates as his face grew serious. He examined Thomas carefully and applied the salve wherever it was needed. Thomas had often thought of Bates as a big bear, but that wasn't quite right. He was a big _mama_ bear.

"You can turn over now, Pooh."

Thomas turned holding his bruised ribs. He waited, but Bates didn't say anything or apply the salve. "Nothing there?"

"Your back's not too bad, Pooh, but your poor bottom's bright red."

"I sat on it for two days and two nights. I can apply the salve, John. You don't have to do it."

"Don't be silly, Pooh. I'll do it. I'll have to bandage your legs just above the knee. The doctor must have missed that."

"The chair seat cut into my legs. Felt as though my legs were being sawed in two after a while."

Bates touched Thomas' hair. "Close your eyes, Pooh, and go to sleep. I'll cover you with the sheet when I'm done."

"No, I think I better not sleep on my ribs."

"All right. I'll finish as quickly as I can." After applying the salve, Bates went into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned, he was singing:

 _I'm just wild about Anna  
And Anna's wild about me;  
The heavenly blisses of her  
Kisses fill me with ecstasy.  
She's sweet just like sugar candy  
And just like honey from a bee;  
Oh, I'm just wild about Anna  
And she's just wild about,  
She can't do without,  
She's just wild about me._

Thomas held his ribs and laughed.

"Hold still, Pooh. I'm starting the bandages."

Thomas never knew Bates to sing a song that was written in this century, let alone in this decade. "Where did you learn a song like that?"

"I heard Minnie singing it. She was wild about Harry; I wasn't."

"Do you have a song for me?"

"Certainly.

 _"Baby Face, you've got the cutest little baby face  
There's not another one could take your place, Baby face  
My poor heart is jumpin', you sure have started somethin'  
Baby face, I'm up in heaven when we plan our move to the states  
I didn't need a shove, 'cause I just fell in love  
With your handsome baby face_

"All done." Thomas cautiously rolled over, and Bates covered him with the sheet. "I almost forgot the laudanum." Thomas sat up, and Bates gave him a full dose according to the directions written by the chemist. "Enjoy it, Pooh. Next time, it'll be only a half dose." Thomas lay back on the bed. "Remember, I have to wake you every two hours, the same as when you had a concussion last year. Every two hours until 4.00 tomorrow morning. Shall I close the drapes?"

"No, it's too hot." Thomas watched as Bates straightened up the medical supplies. "John, where's your room?"

"I'm sleeping in the dressing room."

"You didn't sleep in here while I was gone?"

"I couldn't Pooh. That's your bed."

Thomas understood. If Bates had slept in his bed, it would have been the same as saying that he wasn't coming back. "John ..."

"Hmm?"

"I love you, John."

"I love you too, Pooh," Bates replied easily.

Thomas knew that Bates did not mean it in the same way he did. Still, it felt grand to say it and to have it returned so readily. He closed his eyes and waited for the laudanum to take him.


	94. L'esprit est complexe

**CHAPTER 94: L'ESPRIT EST COMPLEXE**

 **2 hours later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

Thomas felt a slap, but his blissful sleep remained undisturbed. Shouts penetrated his euphoria, but the words held no meaning. It was not until the frantic note in Bates' voice pierced his consciousness that he squinted open an eye.

"Thank god, Pooh! Stay with me, now. Stay awake," begged Bates. "Brouette, call a doctor."

"I think I'd better," agreed Brouette as he rushed out the door.

Thomas slipped back into the darkness.

* * *

 **15 minutes later**

Thomas swatted at the pungent odour biting his nose.

"Wake up, Pooh!" demanded Bates.

The obnoxious scent forced Thomas' eyes open. _Smelling salts_.

Bates stoppered the small bottle of spirits. "Keep those eyes open, Pooh, or I'll unplug it again."

"I don't like that stuff."

"I know. You and I are going to talk now. Remember ... every two hours ... your concussion?"

"I want to sleep."

"I know, Pooh, but you can spare me a couple of minutes." Bates smoothed Thomas' hair from his face as had become his habit. "Tell me your name, Pooh."

"You're cute."

"Yes, we're three cute men. Pay attention ..."

Thomas looked up at Brouette. "Don't you find him cute?"

Brouette smiled ever so slightly. "It's not my place to say."

Bates touched Thomas lightly under the chin. "Concentrate, Pooh. Tell me your name."

"Pooh."

"No, I mean your formal name."

" _MISTER_ Pooh."

Again, Bates smoothed Thomas hair. "Pooh, are you having me on?"

"No!" Thomas closed his eyes and pulled a pillow over his face.

"No! Pooh! Wake up! Please wake up!"

Thomas did not like to hear the desperation in Bates' voice, but sleep was too beguiling.

* * *

 **20 minutes later**

Thomas heard Roch shouting, but he could not see the fiend. Roch's voice was growing closer, louder, angrier, and Thomas could feel his heart pounding. He tried to shout for help, but he had no voice. _This is a dream_ , he thought. _One of those dreams where I have no voice. Wake up, you fool. WAKE UP!_

Thomas sat bolt upright and opened his eyes. A short round man was standing at the far end of the room shouting at Bates in French and waving a piece of paper. Brouette was translating, and Bates seemed distraught. Thomas tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Wait, Monsieur Barrow! Please stay where you are!" Brouette and the round man hurried to Thomas' bedside. Bates remained at a distance and watched silently.

"Monsieur Barrow, this is Dr Sauvé. He's Lady Bennett's doctor."

Thomas ignored the doctor. "Tell me what's wrong."

Brouette motioned to Bates, who hobbled quickly to the bed and leaned close to Thomas. "What is it, Pooh?"

"Tell me what's happened. Is it the baby?"

"No, Pooh, it's nothing like that. It's me. I made an error with the laudanum. The first dose should have been tomorrow morning."

Brouette interrupted. "It was the chemist's mistake, and the doctor said no harm was done."

Bates squeezed Thomas' uninjured hand. "I'm sorry, Pooh."

"You're a cute mama bear," Thomas muttered as he closed his eyes and left worldly concerns behind, at least for a time.

* * *

 **A few minutes later**

As Thomas slept, Dr Sauvé examined his gunshot wound and abrasions and replaced the bandages. With Brouette as interpreter, he assured Bates that there was no sign of infection and complimented his bandaging.

"The doctor asks, how old are the scars on Monsieur Barrow's wrists."

Bates had not anticipated that type of question. "About two years."

"The doctor asks, has Monsieur Barrow been depressed lately."

"Brouette, will you promise to forget what I am about to say?"

"I promise, Monsieur Bates."

"Tell the doctor that my brother had a breakdown at the beginning of June after receiving some difficult, personal news."

Brouette grasped Bates' shoulder. "I am sorry for your brother's suffering, Monsieur Bates." After conferring with the doctor, Brouette turned to Bates. "The doctor asks, has there been any sign of depression today."

Bates thought for a moment. "No. The first sign for him has always been loss of appetite, but he ate today like a horse. You saw it yourself, Brouette."

Brouette smiled.

"Wait. When you tell the doctor, ask him why that is. How could a man who struggles with depression have survived the last two days and not be depressed?"

Brouette translated. The doctor turned to Bates and replied, "L'esprit est complexe." The doctor then apologized for shouting and insisted that he had been angry with the hospital chemist, not Bates. The chemist's instructions had not been clear.

Bates shook the doctor's hand, but he knew the truth. He, John Bates, had made a serious error. Had he truly been so stupid as to think that he could dose an exhausted man with laudanum and then ask him questions? He was thankful that he had not made a more serious mistake.

Brouette escorted the doctor downstairs and returned immediately. "Monsieur Bates, you should take a nap. I can sit with your brother while he's sleeping. Nothing is going to wake him now."

"That's kind of you, Brouette. Tell me, where is Lady Grantham and the others?"

"They're trying to pass the time in the drawing room playing cards."

Bates glanced at himself in the mirror to see if he were presentable. "I'm going to speak to them. I won't be long."

"Certainly, Monsieur Bates. Go down the main staircase, walk to the end of the wall of windows facing the garden, and turn left. The drawing room will be the first room on your right."

Bates took Old Ram and followed Brouette's directions. He studied the garden as he passed the tall windows. He resented the many lovely blooms. He resented anything that seemed unaware of Thomas' ordeal.

Bates turned the corner and found the drawing room. He straightened himself, took a deep breath, and opened the door. "Good afternoon, ladies."

"Bates!" exclaimed Lady Bennett. "We didn't expect to see you so soon."

"Sit down, Bates," ordered the Dowager. "You look dreadful."

"Honestly, Vi," scolded Ella. "Please sit by me, Bates, and tell us of your brother's condition. We haven't been able to think of anything else."

Bates gripped Old Ram tightly. "I will, but there's something I must do first. I must humbly apologize for my behaviour towards you."

"Nonsense," declared the Dowager. "I would have behaved in exactly the same manner if our situations had been reversed."

"That's not true," challenged Ella. "Vi would have been twice as self-righteous."

"I don't like to do things half-way," agreed the Dowager.

"I appreciate your trying to let me off the hook, Lady Grantham, but I respectfully ask that you allow me to speak."

"By all means," replied the Dowager.

"At the hospital, my brother gave Inspector Martel a statement of what had transpired, and the Inspector allowed me to read it. According to the statement, Giroux gave no hint as to his true nature. How can I condemn you for not seeing through the man's veneer when my own brother couldn't. Giroux's a confidence man, and a confidence man is skilled at being ordinary." Bates turned to Ella. "You were right when you said that my behaviour was self-righteous. Isn't the other side of that page a fall from grace?"

"Have you fallen?" asked Ella gently.

"I have, but the consequences were minor. I'm more fortunate than I deserve."

"Do you care to hear what I have to say?" asked the Dowager.

"No!" replied Lady Bennett and Ella in unison.

"Yes, milady," replied Bates. "I'd like to hear."

"I think you should take a seat, Bates. We'll order tea, and you can tell us what was in Barrow's statement and what injuries he has suffered so that we may encourage his recovery and appreciate that we all are more fortunate than we deserve. All except your brother, that is."


	95. How do I begin?

**CHAPTER 95: HOW DO I BEGIN?**

 **Early that evening**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

Sensations dragged Thomas to awareness ... the fiery pain across his upper arm ... the pounding over his left eye ... his sweaty skin sticking to the sheets ... an ice cold cloth over his eyes. Bates' insistent voice beckoned to him as the cloth was removed, and Thomas opened his eyes. He found Bates sitting on the edge of the bed with Brouette standing at his elbow. Bates draped the cloth over the edge of a bowl sitting on the nightstand. "Put it back. Put it over my eyes," pleaded Thomas.

"We have business, Pooh."

"But it's so hot."

Bates gazed at Thomas for a moment and then responded with that enigmatic half smile of his. He dipped his hand in the bowl and withdrew it clutching a large ice chip. He ran the chip across Thomas' forehead and down his neck, then up the inside of one arm, over his chest, and down the inside of his other arm.

An unfamiliar hum drew Thomas' attention. He turned his head and saw that a fan had been set up near the window. The room was stifling in spite of the fan, but Bates' ice made him shiver. When the chip was reduced to water, Thomas touched Bates' cold fingertips. A smile tried to find its way around Thomas' swollen lip. "Mama Bear."

"Do you hear that, Brouette? I'm a mama bear. Last week I was an old goat."

"My little brother used to call me _mon petit chef indien_ ," responded Brouette. "It means my little indian chief."

"At least indian chief carries some dignity," observed Bates.

Brouette nodded to Thomas. "And that's from the man who calls you Pooh."

Bates and Brouette laughed, and Thomas laughed, too, pressing his hand to his ribs to keep them still.

How bad is the pain now, Pooh?"

Thomas shrugged.

"The laudanum has worn off, but Dr Sauvé said you'll feel much better by this time tomorrow." Bates smoothed back Thomas' hair. "Let's take care of business, Pooh. Tell me whose house this is."

The infernal concussion questions. "Lady Bennett's."

"Good. Do you know what time it is?"

Thomas thought for a moment. "You said it was 6.00 when the doctor was here again, so it must be 8.00 now." Thomas glanced at the window. "8.00 at night."

"That's fine, Pooh. Do you want anything? Brouette has a summer pudding, if you'd like."

Thomas glanced at Brouette and gestured to Bates to move closer. Bates leaned in, and Thomas whispered, "Would you do the ice again?"

"Whatever you want, Pooh." Bates dipped his hand in the bowl and found a suitable chip that he ran over Thomas' exposed skin. "Better?" asked Bates.

"Better," replied Thomas as he closed his eyes and drifted away from awareness.

* * *

 **Early the next morning**

It was almost 4.00, and Brouette was carrying a fresh bowl of ice to the bedroom along with scrambled eggs under a cloche. Every two hours the routine had been the same. Thomas resisted being roused, and Bates gently eased him into the here and now, pressing him to answer concussion questions. Thomas did his best, bouncing between coherence and confusion. Then he ate a few bites of whatever Brouette offered or took a few sips of lemonade or relieved himself or asked if his ladies were safe from Giroux or if Lord Bennett's cuff links had been returned. Sometimes Bates changed a bandage or applied more salve. But the last thing was always the same. Thomas asked Bates to, "Do the ice."

While Thomas slept, Bates and Brouette sat and talked quietly or played cards or had a bite to eat or rested their eyes. Twice, Thomas was awakened by a dream that the kidnappers still had him tied up. Both times, he opened his eyes, saw Bates, and returned easily to sleep.

This was going to be the last time Bates would have to wake Thomas. Brouette opened the bedroom door to find Bates preparing the prescribed dose of laudanum.

Bates took the bowl from Brouette and pushed a clean facecloth into the ice. "I'm not looking forward to this."

Brouette understood. After two days with no sleep, Thomas was becoming more and more agitated at being awakened. "At least this will be the last time."

"Thank god for that," agreed Bates. "I don't like being the villain."

Brouette watched as the established routine unfolded. Bates wrung out the facecloth and draped it over Thomas' eyes. As Thomas stirred, Bates called his name and urged him to open his eyes. Thomas flailed his arms, but Bates was ready and easily dodged the wild swings. When Thomas finally opened his eyes, Bates leaned closer. Brouette knew that Bates was checking Thomas' pupils, as the hospital doctor had instructed. The pupils must be the same size.

Thomas looked up at Bates, but instead of shouting or pushing Bates away or rolling away as he had before, he began to cry. Brouette could see that Bates had not been prepared for that possibility and was shaken. Bates leaned close to Thomas' ear. "Please don't, Pooh. I can't bear it. You only have to answer the questions once more, and then you may have the laudanum and sleep as long as you like. I won't let anyone wake you."

"I can't," Thomas choked.

"It's too much for him, Monsieur Bates. Must he answer the questions?"

"We must do as the doctor ordered."

Thomas pulled the sheet over his head. "Let me be."

Brouette watched Bates coo and cajole until Thomas was calm. Bates dabbed Thomas' eyes with the facecloth and asked Brouette to help Thomas sit up.

"I can't be polite," warned Thomas.

"Indeed," replied Brouette, not knowing what else to say. He looked at Bates, who gave him a wink.

"No one's asking you for manners, Pooh. Answer my questions, and I'll give you the laudanum. Think how much better you'll feel the next time you wake up."

"I don't want to wake up. I want to sleep!" Thomas complained.

"The questions first, Pooh. Do you remember what you were doing before Giroux drugged you?"

Thomas was silent, and Brouette thought it cruel to insist on an answer. But Thomas found his second wind, as he always did. "I was waiting for Ella at that American bar. We were going to meet Josephine Baker. John! Josephine Baker! She's still waiting! Put on your coat and find her! Tell her I'm not coming!"

"Calm yourself, Pooh. She's known since that first night. Ella told her."

"She's not coming here, is she? I'm not dressed. John! Someone took my pyjamas!"

"No, Monsieur Barrow. You chose to sleep without pyjamas because of the rash. I brought you Pears soap. Remember?"

Thomas stared at Brouette.

"Do you remember that, Pooh?"

"I remember ... but ... John ... do I speak French?"

"What?" Bates looked from Thomas to Brouette. "No, Pooh. Brouette speaks English."

"Oh."

"But you're going to learn French, Monsieur Barrow. You told me so."

"Did you, Pooh? Do you remember?"

"Yes, but ... I can't learn it today!"

"No one expects that, Pooh. I have one last question for you. What are the names of the children?" Bates always said _the_ children to Thomas, never _my_ children.

Thomas thought for a moment. "Timothy and Emilia. And you're Bonnie John."

"That's fine, Pooh."

"And Emilia's going to be a doctor."

"Not that again!"

"Did you see that one of the doctors at the hospital was a woman?"

"I saw, and I was shocked." Bates picked up the laudanum. "I would never undress for a lady doctor."

"But you expect Anna to undress for a male doctor."

Bates didn't answer.

"Don't you?"

"I've never thought of it that way, Pooh. I should have, I suppose, but I haven't." Bates handed the laudanum preparation to Thomas. "But that doesn't mean my little darling wants to be a doctor. Do you think you know her better than I do?"

"Yes. _I've_ changed her nappies." With that summation, Thomas drank the laudanum.

Bates laughed. "Perhaps we can settle this when she's a bit older. Is there anything you want? Brouette's brought some scrambled eggs."

"No, I want to sleep."

Brouette helped Thomas lie down and adjusted his pillow.

"Brouette's promised to keep out the housemaids today so you can sleep in peace. I'm sending Brouette off to bed in a bit. Listen to me, Pooh. I have to sleep, too, but I'm afraid I won't hear you from the dressing room if you need me. I'm going to sleep in here with you."

"Mmhmm."

"Do you understand me, Pooh? You don't mind, do you? This is a large bed. You won't even know I'm here."

"I understand. Mama Bear wants to guard her cub."

Bates chuckled. "That's right, Pooh."

"But you'll wake me when Josephine Baker comes? I'll want to dress."

"Yes, Pooh. We'll wake you."

"Do the ice, John."

Brouette watched as Bates obliged. "Bonnie John? Interesting."

Bates waggled a warning finger at Brouette. "Not another word."

* * *

 **Late that morning**

Bates was sleeping soundly when a noise startled him. He opened his eyes to find Thomas sitting up and wild-eyed. "Pooh, what's wrong?"

"I need my clothes!"

"They're in the chest of drawers. I'll get them."

"No! I don't need your help!" Thomas stood and wobbled for a moment.

"Please, Pooh. You may be lightheaded still."

"Leave me alone!" Thomas steadied himself and walked to the chest of drawers. He pulled the top drawer from the chest with his right hand and dumped its contents on the bed. He found a pyjama bottom and stepped into one leg, but he miscalculated with the other and fell onto the bed. He lay on the bed for a moment clutching his ribs.

"Let me help you."

"No!" Thomas stood and pulled on his other pyjama leg. He tried to tie the waist, but he was clumsy without the use of his left hand.

"I'll do it."

Thomas sat heavily on the bed and allowed Bates to secure the ties. "I'm sorry, John. I don't know what came over me."

Bates could see that Thomas' hands were trembling. He picked up the empty drawer and returned it to the chest. "What was it? Another dream? Did you dream that the kidnappers had you?"

"No. I dreamed of someone who had me confined a long time ago."

"Who was that?"

"My employer before Downton."

Bates was appalled. "Do you mean your employer tied you up?"

"What? No, John. He had no need to resort to that."

Bates picked up the clock. "It's almost 11.00. I can give you another half dose of laudanum if you feel you need it."

"No, I don't want to risk it. I'll switch to aspirin."

"Good." Bates poured some water from the pitcher and gave it to Thomas with the aspirin. "You're looking much better. The swelling's less noticeable, especially around your lip."

Thomas gave Bates' sleeve a small yank. "I'm sorry I woke you, John."

"No one can help their dreams, Pooh. Do you want your pyjama top?"

"No, it's too hot ... unless you prefer that I wear it."

"It doesn't matter to me."

Thomas returned to his side of the bed as Bates folded the clothes and returned them to the drawer. "John, can't we turn the fan directly towards us?"

"Better not. Brouette says that's a good way to catch cold."

"Too bad."

Bates settled on his side of the bed.

"John ...?"

"Mmm?"

Thomas rolled onto his uninjured side to face Bates. "If we truly had been brothers, would you have saved me?"

"Saved you?"

"From my employer."

"Did you need saving?"

"Yes."

Bates rolled to face Thomas. When Thomas' hair was mussed, it was easy to imagine him as a boy ... a boy with a toothy grin too large for his face ... a mischievous boy, but a sweet boy. _Save the boy or the man won't survive._

"That's all right, John. It was a stupid question."

"It wasn't stupid, Pooh. I want to answer you as honestly as I can. You've forgotten that I was a drunkard then and couldn't help myself, let alone someone else. But I want to believe that if you had been my little brother, I would have been inspired to be more of a man ... to set a proper example for you."

Thomas smiled and rolled onto his back.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you."

"I know."

Bates studied Thomas as he stared at the ceiling. Thomas' bare chest was exposed, and his chest hair was dark, straight, and orderly. _Just like the man_ , thought Bates. Bates touched his own chest hair peeping out from his pyjama top. His chest hair was lighter in colour, curly, and a bit wild. _Just like the man_. He chuckled at his own joke.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing. I was only thinking what a cute cub you are."

"Damn right!"

"Pooh, what did you mean when you said that your employer confined you?"

Thomas rolled again to face Bates. "John, you know I won't talk about that."

"I know."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because you need to tell someone, Pooh."

"I have. I've told Dr Clarkson."

"I can imagine how that went."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm guessing you were the same with Dr Clarkson as you were when you gave your statement to Inspector Martel."

"And how's that?"

"Cold. Impersonal."

"So?"

Bates reached over and smoothed back Thomas' hair. "I'm working this out in my own head, mind you, so it may be jumbled."

"Go on."

"You have to let young Thomas tell his side of the story."

"I don't understand, John. There's no difference between my side as a boy and my side now."

"When you talked to Dr Clarkson, it was you, the man, speaking the way a man does, especially a British man. But young Thomas went straight from the employer who misused him to Downton, and you never allowed him to say what he had suffered. You never gave him a chance to be angry or to cry." Bates placed his hand on Thomas' chest. "You've kept young Thomas trapped in here, and he's affected every aspect of your life. I saw it when we first met, but I didn't understand it then."

"You want me to cry?"

"I want you to let young Thomas tell his story without detaching yourself."

"I thought you didn't believe in psychology."

"The older I am, the less certain I am of my beliefs."

Thomas rolled onto his back with Bates' hand still pressed against his chest. He placed his own hand over Bates'. "I know you're trying to help me, John, but I don't see it the same way."

"Listen, Pooh. Two days ago, you were in the hands of kidnappers and came close to losing your life. Yet when you dreamed about it and woke up, you were perfectly calm. But when you dreamed about young Thomas' life and woke, you became hysterical."

"I wasn't hysterical."

"Fine. Then let's say you were significantly more disturbed than you were by the other dreams."

Bates retrieved his hand, and the two men were quiet for a time. Thomas broke the silence. "Do you truly believe what you said?"

"Yes."

"You won't laugh if I try?"

"Certainly not."

"And you won't tell Anna?"

"This is strictly between us, Pooh."

"How do I begin?"


	96. What Any Pitiful 13-Year-Old Would Do

**CHAPTER 96: WHAT ANY PITIFUL 13-YEAR-OLD WOULD DO**

 **A moment later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom** **  
** **Maison de Bennett**

Bates hurried to close the drapes and turn the fan towards the bed. He did not want to give Thomas the chance to change his mind.

"John, you said we'd catch cold with the fan on us."

"It's only while we have the drapes shut. The darkness may help you. Are you ready?"

"Why are you making this into a big production?"

"You're exaggerating, Pooh. Are you comfortable?"

"I suppose. The breeze from the fan is a relief."

"Good." Bates returned to his side of the bed and sat against the headboard. "Relaxed?"

"No. I feel foolish."

"More foolish than when I put salve on your bottom?"

Thomas jerked his head towards Bates. "What kind of a thing is that to say?" he demanded.

"It's a simple question."

"There's such a thing as tact, John Bates. Most people would have said, _What do you have to lose?_ and leave my bottom out of it."

"Very well. What do you have to lose?"

"You're trying to unsettle me, aren't you?" accused Thomas. "You think it will make me more vulnerable!"

"Perhaps. Is it working?"

"Perhaps!"

"Good. Close your eyes."

"Fine!" Thomas closed his eyes.

Bates leaned closer to Thomas and spoke softly. "I'm going to call you Thomas. No one called you Pooh back then."

"This is daft. Nothing's going to happen."

"Probably not. But if something does happen, let yourself be carried away."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Tell me about the day you left home."

"That was the day Mum died. I've told you about that."

"Tell me again."

"My father left for the shop as though it were any other day. Then Mum told me she was dying, and I ran for the doctor. I remember exactly what the doctor said. _She's already dead, boy. You should have fetched me yesterday._ Then he laughed. _I won't have any trouble noting the time of death in this house, will I, boy?_ He was making a joke because my father was a clock-maker."

"What else do you remember?"

"I remember trying to grasp the finality of it. I remember that Mum looked like a wax doll. Her face was blue and her lips were almost white. Death had touched everything but her hair. When the doctor left for my father's shop, I tied a long lock of her hair with embroidery thread from her button box and cut it with her scissors. Mum was particular about her hair, so I used her brush to smooth over the missing piece. Mum had given me her grandmother's ruby ring to hold for my sister, and I tied it to the lock of hair. I wrapped it all in a piece of newspaper, tucked it in my pocket, and left with nothing else but the clothes on my back."

"Where were you headed?"

"The estate where my sister and Baxter worked. I thought the owner might take me as a hall boy. I didn't know the name of the owner or the location, but I remembered Mum saying that it wasn't far from Leeds. I was an ignorant boy. I thought the clerk at the Leeds Post Office would know her."

"That's not so ignorant for a twelve-year-old. It's resourceful."

"I was thirteen. It was Flossie who was twelve. Our neighbours called us the Irish twins, but I didn't understand the joke back then. Flossie was a good student and had her certificate, so she was able to leave school at twelve and go to work."

"Don't tell me you walked from Manchester to Leeds with no money in your pocket?"

"I told you I was ignorant. I asked for directions along the road, and people would point the way. I'd see a cottage here or there and ask for water, but I didn't dare ask for anything more. I didn't want to invite questions. I stumbled along crying for Mum. I was pitiful!"

"You aren't very kind to yourself, Thomas."

"Why should I be? I was thirteen and should have managed better. I should have taken my coat and the few bob that were mine and a hard-boiled egg, at least. I could have gone to Baxter's mother for the address of the estate. But no. I had to run away like some stupid little boy who didn't get what he wanted for Christmas."

"Any thirteen-year-old who loved his mother would have been distraught over her death."

"A person can be distraught and sensible at the same time. You would have been."

"We're talking about you, Thomas. Did you make it to Leeds?"

"I walked until it was too dark to see. Then I curled up near the road and cried myself to sleep. The next morning the sun woke me, and I finished my walk. I was shocked when the clerk at the Post Office told me that he had never heard of my sister. When I persisted, he shouted at me to leave. Then the other clerks began to jeer. One yelled that they had workhouses for vagrants like me. I was terrified and ran out. I didn't know it, but Alfie Reynolds spotted me and followed me out."

"Alfie Reynolds? The man who left you money?"

"He wasn't a man then. He was seventeen. I ran aimlessly and found myself at the new market hall. I went from stall to stall asking for work in exchange for a bite of food. I was small for my age then, and I must have looked undesirable after my long walk and no food and no bath. No one would have me. That's when Alfie introduced himself. I'd seen men in livery before but never someone so young. He was splendid. He asked me if I was hungry." Thomas opened his eyes. "I couldn't help myself, John. I'd never been truly hungry before."

"There's no shame in being hungry, Thomas."

"Alfie took me to a shop and bought saveloys and chips. Then he took me to his room above a public house, and we stuffed ourselves. He was kind to me, so when he asked why I was alone, I told him. He asked me if I wanted a job, and I couldn't believe my luck. He told me that his employer was looking for a page, and that I might do."

 _A page?_ Bates thought to himself. _In the twentieth century?_

"Alfie wouldn't tell me his employer's name, but he had been his page until recently. Now he was a junior footman, and his employer needed a replacement. I asked what I must do to impress the man, and Alfie prepared me. I must never question or contradict the man or show emotion. That didn't seem odd. Isn't that what most employers expect? It certainly was what my father expected. Alfie told me that his employer had high standards and would test me occasionally. The more difficult he made it sound, the more I wanted to prove myself. I would show my father that I didn't need him or anyone else. Then Alfie told me I could nap in his bed while he spoke with the man." Thomas fell silent.

"Did his employer hire you?"

Thomas sat up. "I need some water."

"I'll get it." Bates brought the pitcher and glasses to the night table on his side and poured Thomas some water. He watched as Thomas sipped. He dreaded what was coming, but it had to be done for Thomas' sake. "What happened when Alfie returned?"

"He was excited. He said that his employer had agreed to interview me that night after dinner. Alfie insisted I take a bath and helped me clean my clothes. He even bought me a toothbrush. He said nothing would impress his employer more than cleanliness. That didn't worry me. My mother liked cleanliness too." Thomas stopped and looked at Bates. "I don't want to lie down. I don't want to shut my eyes."

"That's fine, as long as you keep talking."

"Alfie took me to the Queen's Hotel. I had never been inside a hotel, and the lobby dazzled me. But I was disappointed in Alfie's employer. Alfie had said that he was titled, and I expected someone regal, but the man was as ordinary as they come. The kind of man you can't describe because he's so ordinary. The interview was ordinary, too. The man wasn't warm, and he wasn't cold. He was ... business-like. The man didn't introduce himself, but that didn't matter. I knew to address him as my Lord. The man asked my name but never used it. When he asked about my situation, I told him the truth, the same as I had told Alfie. Then he told me to wait in the hall. When Alfie finally joined me, he clapped me on the back. He told me that his employer would check my story, and then I would be hired. Meanwhile, Alfie and I were to have two whole days on our own in Leeds."

"That must have been fun."

"The man gave Alfie money, and Alfie paid for a room with two beds. We had a great time exploring shops and eating and going to the cinema. I had never been to the cinema. I remember we saw a film with men diving, one on a bicycle. The dives were played forward and backwards, and we thought it was hilarious. But no matter how much fun we had during the day, I cried at night for Mum. Alfie was terribly sweet about it and tried to comfort me. He was my first crush, you know. He kissed me once as we were leaving our room, and my heart beat so hard I thought I would pass out."

 _So Alfie was the first of his ill-advised love affairs_ , thought Bates. "Did the man check your story?"

"He certainly did. Alfie received a telegram telling him when to bring me to the hotel. When we arrived, Alfie waited for me in the lobby, and I walked up the stairs by myself. The man finally introduced himself: Theo Griffiths, Marquess of Northcott. Then he held up a contract for me to see. I recognized the signature immediately. It was my father's. Northcott told me that my father had indentured me to him for a period of 5 years for a hefty fee."

"Indentured? That's impossible!"

"If I would have read the contract, I would have seen that it was only a receipt and guarantee for one of my father's best longcase clocks. But as I said, I was stupid. Northcott told me that if I did not live up to the terms of the agreement then a court would rule that the contract had been breached, and I would be left in jail to rot. It was easy for me to believe that my father would sell me, but I wasn't worried. I had no intention of breaching the contract. Alfie seemed happy with his job. Why wouldn't I be happy too. Northcott told me that I would be paid a small wage, but rather than see me fritter it away as boys do, he would hold onto it for me until my contract expired."

"Was that the end of the interview?"

"No. Then Northcott said something that cut me to the quick. He said that he had located my sister and that she was ashamed of me for running away from my responsibilities. According to Northcott, she wanted nothing more to do with me. If that weren't enough, he said that if I breached my contract, then he would demand satisfaction from my father by insisting that my sister take my place. Before he dismissed me, he asked if I knew what French style was. I told him that I didn't, which was the truth, and he seemed satisfied. He said we would leave for Edenby after tea. That was his estate." Thomas turned to Bates. "I need more water."

Bates poured the water, and Thomas gazed at him while he sipped.

"French style means ..."

"I know what it means." Bates took the glass from Thomas.

"Oh. I thought perhaps you didn't because you're not ..."

"Let's finish this, Thomas."

"I don't want to."

"But you're so close."

Thomas drew up his knees. "I don't want to!"

"Remember why you're doing this. It's for your own well-being, Thomas. Tell me what happened when you arrived at Edenby."

Thomas stared at his legs. "When we arrived at the house, Alfie whispered to me to stay in the car until Northcott told me what to do. Alfie got out at the house with the chauffeur. Then Northcott took the wheel and drove us to an old barn. He told me it was my job to open the car door for him. I had seen footmen open car and carriage doors outside my father's shop, and I did my best to imitate them. Northcott told me that I was to spend the night there alone. He said that the barn was no longer in use, so no one would disturb me. He assured me that an old pump by the barn was in working order and promised to bring my breakfast in the morning. If my performance was satisfactory, then he would permit me to move into my room. I realized that this was one of his tests, but I had no idea what was required to pass. I followed Alfie's advice and didn't question or contradict or show emotion, not even when I realized that I would be going without supper."

Bates watched as Thomas hugged his legs with his good arm. He couldn't make sense of Thomas' story or this man, Northcott.

"Edenby was colder than Leeds, and I still didn't have a coat. I curled up in some mouldy straw and thought about the room I would have once I passed the test. There would be other boys and perhaps some good times to be had. And Alfie. I thought quite a bit about Alfie. I woke with the sun and cleaned myself up at the pump as best I could. I had my toothbrush in my pocket and brushed my teeth. When I heard the car, I stood at attention. When the car stopped, I was at the door and opened it with great finesse. I could see a basket on the passenger seat that I hoped held my breakfast. Northcott didn't leave the car. He told me that my clothes smelled to high heaven. He tossed me a half-loaf of bread from the basket and said he'd be back the same time tomorrow."

"What did you do?"

"I did what any pitiful thirteen-year-old would do. I ate the bread and cried for Mum to come save me. When the bread was gone, I made a plan. Before sunset, I would take off my clothes and wash them as best I could at the pump. Then I would sleep in my union suit and by morning my clothes would be dry. It was a cold night to sleep without clothes, but I managed it. The next morning was a repeat of the morning before. Northcott said he could smell my smalls right through my clothes. He threw me another half loaf of bread, but this time he threw me a bar of soap too."

"And you stayed?"

"I didn't believe I had a choice, John. Before sunset, I used the soap to wash all my clothes including my union suit, and I slept naked. I was shivering too hard to cry that night. As soon as the sun was up, I used the soap to wash myself and my hair at the pump. God that water was cold."

"Did you pass the test?"

"I assumed so when he told me to get in the car. Looking back, I can see that there was no test. He only wanted me to understand our relationship from the first day."

"Did you share a room with Alfie at the house?"

"No, I didn't sleep one night in that house while Northcott was alive."

"While he was alive?"

"He died a week after my seventeenth birthday. Choked on a grape at dinner."

"Jesus Christ! And that's when you came to Downton?"

"A few months later, after Alfie trained me to be a footman."

"We'd better stick to the subject, Thomas. Where did Northcott have you sleep?"

"He took me to a wooded cottage on the estate. Alfie told me later that Northcott's father had ordered it built for him as a 16th birthday present, and Northcott made regular improvements to it over the years. I was surprised by how modern the cottage was, but I was disappointed not to be living with Alfie and the other boys. Northcott showed me a clock on the mantle and warned me that I was to have a bath every night at 9.00 unless he instructed me otherwise. I would begin my regular duties in a couple of days and accompany Northcott most everywhere he went. I was relieved to hear that I wouldn't be confined to the cottage, and I wondered if I would be given livery like Alfie's. Northcott said he would return that night and promised to bring another basket of food with him."

"That doesn't seem so bad."

"No, it doesn't, does it? I ate breakfast from the basket, and the food was good. Alfie came and showed me how to find my way out of the woods. I was thrilled when he took me to be fitted for my livery, but mine was nothing like his. It was ridiculous. Something out of an illustrated fairy book that made me look like a child. It was embarrassing. Alfie told me to be patient and learn everything I could, and someday I would have a livery like his."

"He was right about that."

"I suppose. Alfie packed a hamper with necessities and walked back to the cottage with me. He showed me how to make up a bed and brew a proper pot of tea and how to prepare Northcott's bath and set out his shaving things and a dozen other things I didn't know. He warned me that he couldn't come back to the cottage, but he was certain I would manage very well. Then he kissed me sweetly and was gone. I examined my room and found a hiding spot for Mum's hair and ring. I wondered how I was ever going to give the ring to Flossie if she wanted nothing more to do with me. I hoped that Northcott had misunderstood her or that she couldn't see past her grief for Mum. She would get over that."

"It was a lie, wasn't it, her never wanting to see you?"

"Yes."

"Did Northcott come back to the cottage that night?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"He brought the basket of food he had promised. John, I ... "

"Keep talking, Thomas."

"He said that Alfie would take me shopping the next day for pyjamas and whatever else I needed. Then he asked if I had taken my bath at 9.00, and I had. John, I can't do this."

"Yes you can. What happened next?"

"He told me to prepare his bath, and I did, exactly as Alfie had shown me." Thomas' breathing became laboured. "When he was done, he ... gave me instruction."

"Instruction in what?"

"French style. He reminded me that if I breached my contract then my sister would be obliged to take my place."

"That bastard."

"I had to do what he asked of me. You can see that, can't you, John?"

Bates felt sick. "Of course I can. You were protecting your little sister. Did Northcott leave you alone after that?"

"No! He ... he told me ... he ordered me to ..." Thomas bolted from the bed.

"Thomas, don't!" pleaded Bates as he struggled to right himself on Thomas' side of the bed. "You're so close!"

Thomas ran into the bathroom and closed the door.

"Thomas, please come out." Bates heard Thomas mutter something unintelligible. "Thomas, I can't understand you. I'm opening the door." Bates turned the knob, but the door was latched. Then he heard Thomas retching. "Are you all right? I didn't mean to make you sick. I'm sorry, Pooh!" Defeated, Bates collapsed against the wall. _I've humiliated him ... and for what?_

Eventually the bathroom door opened, and Thomas emerged, limp and pale. He walked slowly to the bed and sat.

"I'm sorry, Pooh. I'm not a psychologist. I had no idea what I was doing. I never should have attempted such a thing after what you suffered this week ..."

"John, be quiet!"

Bates leaned against the wall, uncertain how to make things better. He saw Thomas pull the sheet over his chest. "Pooh, you're shivering."

"It's the fan."

Bates aimed the fan away from the bed. "Shall I open the drapes?"

"I think you'd better, or we'll suffocate."

Bates opened the drapes, forcing both men to blink against the midday sun.

Thomas lay back in the bed. "I need to sleep for a few more hours."

"I should too." Bates hesitated. "Do you want me to sleep in the dressing room?"

Thomas shrugged.

Bates knew what that meant. "I'd feel better sleeping in here. You may need something. You don't mind, do you?"

"No."

Bates returned to his side of the bed, and Thomas lifted the sheet for him. The two men lay side-by-side in silence.

"John ...?"

"Mmm?"

"I want you to know that you weren't wrong."

"No? I'm not so certain."

"No, John, you weren't. I need to finish the story. Someday. Not today."

"You're in charge, Pooh."

"You pity me, don't you? That's more than I can bear."

"It's not pity I feel. I wonder at your strength. When I was thirteen, I was a commis boy at a fancy London restaurant and lived with my parents. If a waiter said a cross word to me, I'd complain to my mother that I'd been misused. I don't know if I could have managed in your situation."

"John ...?"

"Mmm?"

"The next day ... the next day I told Alfie what happened."

Bates turned towards Thomas and could see his face twisted with the effort to contain his emotion. "What did he say?"

"He said that nothing like that ever happened when he was Northcott's page. He said that there must be something different about me that made it happen."

"The only thing different about you was your innocence, Pooh."

"You mean my stupidity!" A small cry slipped from Thomas' mouth before he could pull it back.

"I don't want to hear you speak that way about my little brother again," chided Bates softly. "Do you understand?"

Thomas nodded.

"Come here, Pooh."

"I'm not an infant."

"No, you're not. You're my little brother and always will be. Come here."

"I can't."

"No? Then I'll come to you." Bates slid closer and slipped his hand under Thomas' neck. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me, but I'm here now." Thomas rolled towards Bates, and Bates pulled him close, being careful of his injured arm. "It's time to let young Thomas have his cry, Pooh."

"I'm not crying," Thomas answered weakly. He pressed his face to Bates' neck, and his body quaked as the old grief forced its way to the surface.

Bates instinctively responded as he did when Timothy was upset. "I know, Pooh, I know," he repeated sympathetically as he stroked Thomas' hair. As the sobs faded, Bates kissed Thomas' cheek and lightly tickled his back until he was asleep. _My poor wounded boy._ _You'll have to speak the end of your tale to find peace. Some day. Not today._


	97. Nothing Untoward

**CHAPTER 97: NOTHING UNTOWARD**

 **Late that afternoon**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

"I'll get it."

Thomas did not grasp the words, but they woke him just the same. He opened his eyes to a pyjama-clad neck. His eyes followed the neck to a stubbled chin and familiar eye crinkles. Bates was sleeping on his back with his head tilted slightly towards Thomas. _He must have been talking in his sleep._ Thomas could feel Bates' slow, warm exhalations in his hair, and he was filled with a sense of peace. There seemed nothing untoward about his being nestled in the crook of Bates' arm or having his arm wrapped about Bates' waist. There seemed nothing unseemly about his reaching up to touch Bates' hair.

Bates stirred, half-opened his eyes and closed them again. "You should move over now, Pooh. Brouette could come in."

Subdued, Thomas moved silently to his own side of the bed, being careful to use only his right hand for assistance. He leaned against the headboard and tried to assemble his thoughts, which seemed to stand in line, each waiting for its turn to be catalogued and filed. _This concussion has made me stupid_ , he complained to himself. When he recalled how he had come to be sleeping in Bates' arms, he was mortified. Bates had been forced to comfort him as though he were an infant. _If John ever has seen me as a man with a man's sensibilities, then that was the end of it._

* * *

 **An hour later**

"Anna, we overslept!" Bates sat up in a frenzy, then realized where he was. "Thomas?"

"In here," came Thomas' voice from the bathroom.

Bates yawned and stretched luxuriously and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Thomas in his robe.

"Sleeping Beauty has awakened without a kiss," Thomas remarked without looking at Bates. "You can't trust a fairy tale."

Bates picked up the alarm clock and held it at arm's-length so he could see the time without his glasses. "I can't make up for lost sleep the way I could when I was your age."

"You were never my age." Thomas walked to the fan and opened his robe to enjoy the breeze. "I'm buying a fan when we return to London."

Bates watched Thomas' robe flutter. _He's in a peculiar mood._ "Turn around and let me get a look at you."

Thomas tied his robe and turned.

"What's that, Pooh? A goatee?"

"Yes."

"To hide the stitches?"

"That's right."

"Clever. I wonder what Lady Grantham will say."

"She'll say, _Don Quixote lives!_ "

Bates chuckled. "You took a bath by yourself?"

"I don't recall having visitors."

"No difficulties?"

"Only my ribs, getting in and out of the tub."

How's your head?

"John, I thought we were done with all the questions!"

"Do you have a headache?" demanded Bates.

Thomas sighed. "Only a bit, but the dizziness is gone."

"Do you want an aspirin?"

"I've had it already and wrote it on the record you've been keeping."

"Good. No need for Mama Bear."

"That's right. No need for Mama Bear. Only ... the bandages, John ... I can't quite manage ..."

"I forgot. Give me a few minutes." Bates disappeared into the bathroom. When he reappeared, he slipped on his glasses and motioned Thomas to the medical tray. "Slip out your arm."

Thomas slipped his arm from his robe and pressed the robe to his chest.

Bates gave the robe a playful tug. "We've shared a bed, and now you're going to be modest?"

Thomas did not answer.

Bates gazed at Thomas a moment and then refocused his attention on the bandage. "I don't see any sign of infection. You're like a cat with nine lives," he mused as he applied a new dressing. "Dr Sauvé must have told me at least a half-dozen times how lucky you were to have come away with only a flesh wound. The bullet could have hit an artery or damaged nerves or muscle or even shattered your shoulder joint." He sank onto the bed.

"Are you unwell, John? You look a bit green about the gills."

Bates smiled wanly. "I'm fine, Pooh. It's foolish of me to let myself worry about what might have happened."

"I suppose that's the burden of being a Mama Bear." A knock sounded and Thomas fixed his robe. "I forgot. I rang for Brouette while you were sleeping and asked him to bring us afternoon tea."

Bates nodded. "I'll finish the bandages after we eat."

Thomas opened the door, and Brouette entered the room pushing a cart. "I'm glad to see you up and about, Monsieur Barrow." He proceeded to transfer the tea service and platters from the cart to the table.

Bates previewed the appealing display of sandwiches and sweets. "Will you join us, Brouette?"

"I appreciate the invitation, Monsieur Bates, but I've fallen behind in my duties."

"I'm afraid I've made a large dent in your routine," apologized Thomas.

"Not at all, Monsieur Barrow. The staff here is efficient. I'll have to put on quite a show of buttling this afternoon, or they'll think they can manage without me," joked Brouette.

Thomas laughed appreciatively. "Another time, then."

"May I suggest that you take a stroll this evening, if you're up to it. The housemaids can freshen your room while you're out."

"I don't know about you, Pooh, but I'm desperate for some fresh air," replied Bates.

Thomas agreed. "We'll let you know when we leave the house, Brouette. And please notify Lady Grantham that I'm well enough to travel."

Brouette smiled. "Perhaps I should inform Her Ladyship after you've left the house. There are three ladies downstairs waiting to spoil you."

The men shared a laugh, and Brouette excused himself.

Bates sat at the table. "Tea?"

"I can do it."

"Shall I cut up a sandwich for you?"

"I can manage!"

"I beg your pardon."

"I didn't mean to snap, John, but you've forgotten that this isn't the first time I've had make do without my left hand. It's only the bandages I can't manage."

"You're right. I had forgotten."

The two men fell to eating. Bates did not want to make Thomas self-conscious as he clumsily cut his sandwich into bite-size pieces. "Would you like to hear a story about my childhood, Pooh?" he asked casually. "A happy one," he added quickly.

"I'd like that."

Bates took a sip of tea before beginning. "I've told you that my mother's mother was Scottish. One summer, my father announced that he could afford to take us on holiday to Scotland to visit my mother's sister and her family. My aunt and uncle were crofters in the Highlands where they raised sheep." Bates took a bite of his sandwich.

"What kind of work did your father do?"

"He was a train guard in and out of London Victoria." Bates took another sip of tea. "My aunt had five boys ... five rowdies ... even the youngest, who was still in a dress as little boys were in those days. My cousins lived a hard life. I may have been taller, but they were tougher."

"Did you like them?"

"Like them? I worshiped them! I was a soft lad. Soft and a bit drab, to say the least. But my cousins were full of the devil. Each day with them was an adventure. My father insisted that I help with the farm, and I didn't dislike the work. But it was afterwards that the fun began. We'd build forts ... play pranks ..."

"Pranks?"

"Every night we'd sneak out of the house to see what mischief we could invent. One night, we managed to stand a grown sheep on the roof without the slightest noise." Bates began to laugh.

"A sheep?"

Bates slapped the table. "I'll never forget the look on Mam's face! The sheep was wearing her good hat! Of course, we were ordered to rescue it immediately."

"The sheep or the hat?"

"Both. I remember the sheep wasn't nearly as docile coming down as it had been going up."

"What did she think of your cousins? Your mother, I mean, not the sheep."

Bates shook his head. "Poor Mam. The next day she caught us smoking my uncle's pipe and told my father. I was afraid he'd cut our holiday short. I still remember what he told her. _The lad needs a chance to have brothers. It's only for a few more days._ That's when I knew what I wanted more than anything, but it was not to be."

Thomas smiled knowingly as though only he could appreciate the meaning of the story.

"It was the way the boys were with each other. Always arguing and teasing. But if one was hurt, the others rallied. If one was in trouble, the others confessed. If one needed advice, the others shared their wisdom. Pooh, do you think I'm in my dotage to ask you to fill their shoes ... at my age?"

Thomas dropped his eyes to his plate and shrugged.

Bates sipped his tea as he watched Thomas spear a piece of sandwich with his fork and guide it carefully past his wired teeth so he could chew it safely with his molars. "Are your teeth attaching?"

"I can't tell. I can't feel anything. I'm supposed to give it three weeks before I go to a dentist."

Bates nodded. "Pooh?"

"Yes."

"Look at me, Pooh."

"Leave me be, John."

"Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Thomas shrugged.

"Is it your head? You must tell me if you're in pain." Bates pushed back his chair. "I'll ask Brouette to ring the doctor."

"No, John. It isn't anything like that. Can't you leave it alone?"

"Tell me what's wrong, and then I'll tell you if I can leave it alone."

Thomas carefully inserted another piece of sandwich into his mouth and chewed in silence.

Bates poured himself a second cup of tea. "After what happened this morning, I thought we were beyond this. I thought we truly could talk to each other about anything."

"I don't want to talk about what happened this morning."

"Is that it, Pooh? Are you upset about what happened?"

Thomas shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Pooh. I know my behaviour ... crossed a line."

Thomas raised his head. " _Your_ behaviour?"

"I embarrassed both of us."

Thomas set down his fork. "John, I was the one ..."

"I need you to trust me, Pooh," interrupted Bates. "I need you to believe what I'm going to say."

"I trust you, John."

"Do you? I'm afraid you may believe ... because I chose to sleep in your bed ... because I wanted to hold you ... I don't want you to believe that I was trying to seduce you. You've had enough men take advantage of you."

"Seduce me?" Thomas pressed his lips together. Then his eyes watered, and he burst out laughing.

"See here, Thomas Barrow, I know how to be seductive if I choose to be!"

Thomas clutched his sides as he doubled over. "Oh, John, my ribs!"

"Are you done?"

"Yes ... but ... you won't try to vamp me, will you?"

"Why do I bother talking to you?"

"I'm sorry, John." Thomas grinned as he collected himself, and the wire on his teeth glinted in the afternoon sun from the window.

"I should be glad, I suppose, that you think it's ridiculous."

"Tell me what you were going to say, John. I'm ready."

"Are you?"

Thomas wiped his eyes and nodded.

"I only want to explain my behaviour." Bates took another sip of tea as he considered exactly what he wanted to say. "Pooh, I had no idea how badly you had suffered after your mother died. It overwhelmed me. It made me want to smother you with the affection you missed from her. There was nothing more to it."

"I never thought otherwise, John."

"No?"

"No. But ... what about my behaviour?"

"Your behaviour? What was wrong with your behaviour? You did what I asked. You let yourself get carried away and let young Thomas cry."

"But ... never mind."

"What, Pooh? Tell me."

"I don't want you to see a boy when you look at me. I want you to see me. I want you to see the man I am now."

"I see the man, Pooh."

"Truly?"

"Truly. But what happened to the boy is a part of the man you are now. Just as this cake is going to be a part of me." Bates reached for the sweets tray and tousled Thomas' hair before making his choice. "Cake, little brother?"

"Don't eat it all, you old goat!" Thomas protested as he filled a plate with the treasures he coveted for himself. "I can't keep up with this damned wire."

Bates and Thomas shared quips, and Bates was satisfied that Thomas' mood had passed. He took a final sip of tea and excused himself to take a bath. As he bathed, he turned over in his mind the words that had passed between Anna and himself as he had packed for Paris only a few days before. They had known only that Thomas was missing and wondered if they would ever see him again. It was time to tell Thomas what they had decided.


	98. A Beast

**CHAPTER 98: A BEAST**

 **A Short Time Later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

Thomas donned his Panama hat and pulled the brim down over his left eye. Several years earlier he had saved his money to buy a quality Panama, which he considered more posh than the straw boaters most men wore on a hot day. His Panama was nothing like that cheap bleached thing Bates wore on his summer afternoons off. Still, it gave Bates a jauntier air and made Thomas smile.

No hat, no matter how fine the weave and how lovely the natural colour, could hide the violence Thomas had suffered earlier in the week. "I'm not too frightening, am I?" he asked.

Bates stepped back for a better view. There was no denying it. In spite of the green discoloration about his eye, the budding goatee, and the wired teeth, Thomas remained the more becoming of the two. "You won't crack any mirrors." Bates picked up Old Ram. "Let's go, Pooh. I'd like to see a little of Paris before the sun sets."

The pair left the room and headed down the corridor as a petite figure turned towards them from the stairs. Thomas' face lit up. "Ella!" His expression changed abruptly when he saw the tiny woman's mournful demeanour. "Ella, what is it?" He ran to meet her and clasped her hand. "What's wrong?"

"You're in one piece, then?"

"Yes, of course." Thomas smiled reassuringly, exposing his wired teeth. "At least, I will be."

Ella exploded. "You're a terrible man, Thomas Barrow, making us wait to see you!"

Bates bristled. "Milady, I can't allow you to ..."

Without turning from Ella, Thomas raised his hand slightly to calm Bates. "Is that it?"

Ella shook her head. "I was the one who invited Giroux into my world. I'll never forgive myself for ..."

Thomas lightly pressed his finger to Ella's lips. "I'm the injured party, Ella, and I tell you there's no one to blame but Giroux and his henchmen." He took off his hat. "I know you won't take orders from a member of my objectionable gender, but nonetheless ... I miss your smile, and I refuse to be the reason for its absence. In fact, I won't stand for it!"

"You won't, won't you?" The stray smile found its way home and broke through Ella' tragic countenance. "I hope I won't set a precedent if I capitulate."

Bates could see that Ella had found her way into Thomas' small circle of trusted friends. "My brother and I were about to take a stroll to the Seine. Would you care to join us?"

"I'm all yours! Take off your shoes and we'll slip out the back way."

"What?"

"Subterfuge, John." Thomas held his ribs and bent down to untie Bates' oxfords with his right hand. "Are my ladies in the sitting room?"

"That's right." Ella quickly slipped off her button-bars. "We'll have to tiptoe."

Bates thought it undignified to remove his shoes but did not want to spoil Thomas and Ella's fun. Thomas handed Bates the oxfords and untied his own shoes. The trio eased themselves down the servants' staircase.

"We're escaping," Ella informed Brouette, as she appropriated a bunch of grapes from the kitchen. "You'll give us a head start, won't you, Brouette?" Brouette held open the back door as Ella skipped out and down the pavement to the gate, swinging her arms with one hand holding her shoes and the other the grapes. Bates watched in amazement as her years melted away.

Thomas glowed. "Isn't she something?"

* * *

 **Boulevard des Invalides**

The three escapees enjoyed the grapes as they walked towards the Seine. Bates listened to Thomas and Ella's exuberant chatter that bounded from topic to topic so quickly he found it difficult to follow. He was shocked by Ella's raw language, considering her upbringing, but forgave her transgressions for the sake of the hearty laughter she elicited from Thomas.

Thomas paused for a moment. "Ella, what's on the other side of this wall?"

"The Hôtel Biron. The Musée Rodin now."

"Rodin, the sculptor? John, it's so close. Perhaps we could visit tomorrow. What do you think, Ella? Would we enjoy it?"

Ella took Thomas' arm and pulled him along. "To tell the truth, I've never been. It would be too sad for me."

Bates thought that an odd reaction to a museum of statues. "Sad? You mean the sculptures are sad?"

"No. Rodin's sculptures are evocative, but I wouldn't say sad. No, it's the man himself. But I've tortured Thomas enough with my lectures on the subject."

"Lectures on Rodin?" asked Bates.

"No, John, she means lectures on men. We're dreadful creatures, John, or didn't you know?"

Bates chuckled. "So Anna tells me every now and again ... how we haven't evolved from our cave-dwelling granddaddies. I don't worry about it. She likes me well enough."

"And I like you well enough," added Ella, flashing her broad smile. "Now let's change the subject."

"You don't get off that easily, Ella," objected Thomas. "What is it about Rodin?"

"You insist?"

"I insist."

"Very well. When I was much younger, I thought I'd expand my artistic endeavours and give sculpting a try. I decided to study at the Académie Colarossi."

"Not the École des Beaux-Arts?" asked Thomas. "Isn't that _the_ art school in France?"

"Because _the_ art school in France didn't accept women back then."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I stepped into that one."

"Let her tell the story."

"Thank you, John. I studied with Alfred Boucher and became friends with a few of his students. They were exciting artists, and I kept up the friendships even after I decided that sculpting wasn't for me."

"Where does Rodin fit?"

"Give her a chance!"

"Thank you again, John. There was a true genius among my sculpting friends. Camille Claudel. Have you ever heard of her?"

Bates and Thomas looked at each other and shook their heads.

"I'm not surprised. Boucher eventually moved to Florence and asked Rodin to continue his students' tutelage. It didn't take long for Rodin to appreciate Camille's talent and take her on as an assistant. And it didn't take long for Rodin to appreciate her other attributes and take her on as his mistress."

Thomas shrugged. "Is that your complaint? Why? Did he force himself on her?"

"No, he didn't force himself on her, and she didn't force him to abandon the mother of his son. She struggled ... mentally ... emotionally ... and when the relationship became impossible, she became more unstable. But she never stopped working, and her work was extraordinary. I visited her, but she isolated herself more and more. The last few times, she refused to open the door and would speak to me only through the shutters. She needed help, but she wasn't crazy. Deluded a bit, but aren't we all?"

Bates stopped walking. "What happened to her?"

"Camille's father had always been her champion, but he died in 1913. After his death, the family wasted no time having Camille committed to an asylum. Her brother signed the papers."

"Her own brother?"

Ella spoke through gritted teeth. "He's a writer and should have understood her artistic temperament, but he's also a devout Catholic and a career diplomat. She was too much of an embarrassment to him."

"When was she released?" asked Thomas.

"Released? Ha! She's still confined. Her doctors say that she's not insane and have tried to negotiate a release with her family, but they refuse to cooperate. Her brother is an ambassador now in Tokyo. Even from there, he exerts complete control over her existence."

Thomas turned pale. "Fourteen years!"

"So far. Camille has no rights. She's only a woman. A woman in a country where women still can't vote! How do you feel about a women's right to vote, John?"

Bates took Ella's arm and continued their stroll. "I'll be honest, Ella. Until recently, I hadn't thought much about it. I've always been old-fashioned; I believe that when a man and women wed, they become one."

"Coverture!" accused Ella.

"I mean spiritually, Ella, not legally."

"You said, _until recently_. What's happened recently?"

"A baby girl."

"And she's made you think?"

"I love my daughter as much as my son. I want her to have the same rights when she's an adult. It's that simple."

"Yes," agreed Ella, "it's that simple. Too bad more fathers don't see it that way."

Bates glanced at Thomas over Ella's head and could see that he was tiring. "Ella, my leg is bothering me a bit today. Is there somewhere nearby we could sit?"

"Why don't we take a taxi to my studio? You and Thomas could relax while I dash out and pick up some supper for us."

"We don't want to put you to any trouble," replied Bates.

"Certainly we do!" interrupted Thomas.

"That settles it!" shouted Ella as she rushed to hail a taxi.

* * *

 **Ella's Studio at La Ruche**

Bates had been to the National Gallery twice in his lifetime. The first was to take advantage of the free admission so he could impress Vera when he did not have the price of both a meal and a show. The second was after his father's funeral, when he needed inspiration to endure an unhappy life in an unhappy marriage without the aid of alcohol.

Bates had never seen an artist's studio. The works in Ella's studio were nothing like the finished and framed pieces that were on display in the National Gallery or at the Abbey or Grantham House. As soon as he stepped inside, he was mesmerized. He circled the room, examining and comparing the sketches pinned to the walls and the half-finished paintings hanging in disarray. He forgot his companions until Ella began to switch on the lamps.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," apologized Ella.

"I didn't mean to be rude." Bates saw that Thomas had fallen asleep on an ancient upholstered armchair. "I must apologize for Thomas. It's the concussion. The doctor said it might make him tire easily."

Ella smiled. "We'll let him sleep a while."

"Thank you. That would be best. Tell me, Ella. Did you create all these ... objets d'art?"

"You're too kind, John. They're more like objets de interrupted thoughts."

Bates smiled at Ella's little joke and pointed to the sketch pinned nearest her easel. "This one's Thomas, isn't it?"

"That's right. It's reference for a future painting."

Bates was amazed. How had Ella captured both Thomas' good looks and the struggle his good looks hid? "It's as though you've known him his entire life."

Ella shrugged in that same way Thomas often did. "Something about him spoke to me. That's all."

"May I ask you another question?"

"Ask away."

Bates pointed to a grouping of sketches and paintings. "You seem to be working and reworking the same idea here."

"That's right. That's how many artists work, at least some of the time."

"I didn't realize. I'd always thought that when an artist had an idea, he ... _she_ simply sat down and painted it."

"Now you know the truth. Breaking down the elements of a complicated piece can help resolve problems before tackling the final work ... perspective, for instance."

"What problem were you trying to solve here?"

"Mood."

Bates nodded. "Yes. I can see that now. May I ask one more question, or have you had enough of tourists?"

"Ask me whatever you like, John."

Bates returned to the sketch of Thomas. "Is this pencil? It seems similar to pencil, but not quite."

"It's charcoal. I use it for all the sketches I do in the studio."

"Charcoal?"

Ella lifted a cloth from a tray and set it on a small table near her easel. "Take a look."

Bates came closer and peaked at the tray. He saw round sticks of charcoal, some thin and some thick, powdered charcoal, soft pointed brushes, a stiff brush with a thin broad edge, a feather inserted into the end of a stick, a fat stick of tightly rolled paper, a few small squares of chamois, and a lump of something he didn't recognize. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the lump.

"A putty rubber." Ella opened a tablet of paper, tore off a sheet, and attached it to the easel. She picked up one of the thin sticks and quickly drew and shaded an apple, blending with her finger. "Now I can use the rubber to lift off the charcoal and create the illusion of light hitting the apple." She kneaded the rubber until she produced a clean surface, then demonstrated. "I can do the same with this," explained Ella, pointing to the paper stick. "When I was young, we often used a piece of bread."

Bates was delighted. He ran his finger over a clean corner of the paper. "The paper's rough."

"It needs tooth to hold the charcoal." Ella laughed. "You're dying to try it, aren't you?"

Something that Bates could not name was pushing him. "I would like to give it a go."

"Bring the stool." While Bates brought the stool to the easel, Ella pulled the largest of her old shirts from its hook. "I rescue men's shirts from the dustbin to protect my clothes while I work. This one should be large enough for you."

Bates removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and slipped into the old garment that Ella held for him. He thoughtfully fingered the layers of crusty paint stains on the shirt's thin material. "How do I begin?"

"Play. Experiment. Blend. Don't be afraid to use your fingers. Here's a sink when you're ready to clean up." Ella washed the charcoal from her fingers. "When you feel brave, take a fresh sheet of paper and draw something ... your left hand perhaps. Adjust the lamp if you like and concentrate more on light and shadow than an outline." She took a basket from a shelf near the door. "I'll collect our supper so you can work without feeling self-conscious."

* * *

Bates waited for the door to click shut. He picked up one of the thin sticks and stared at it a moment before drawing a line. He drew more lines, pressing more lightly one time, more heavily the next, and blending with his finger. He placed one of the thick pieces flat against the paper and dragged it across in broad sweeps. He blended some strokes with the chamois and others with the feather and studied the resulting textures. He drew a circle and shaded it with a pointed brush dipped in the powder. He kneaded the rubber and used it to create a highlight.

"Where's Ella?"

Bates jumped at Thomas' voice but was quickly reabsorbed by his efforts. "She's ..."

"What, John? She's what?"

"She's gone out to find us some supper."

"You let her go by herself?"

"She's a big girl, Pooh."

"What are you doing?"

"Playing. Don't worry. It's by Ella's personal invitation."

"Oh?" Thomas approached the easel. "What a mess!"

Bates laughed as he removed the practice paper from the easel. "It may look like a mess, but it's an education." He left the easel to wash his hands.

"Your education is all over your hat." Thomas cautiously picked up the faux Panama with two fingers and held it away from himself.

"Must you always exaggerate?" Bates kneaded the rubber and used it to pick up the few traces of charcoal from his hat.

"What's that thing?"

"A putty rubber," proclaimed Bates, holding up the rubber for admiration.

"Interesting." Thomas placed the clean hat next to his own in the far corner of the room. "Why did you let me fall asleep in front of Ella?"

"What did you expect me to do?" Bates attached a fresh sheet to the easel. "It doesn't matter, Pooh. She understands about the concussion. Help me a moment, won't you?"

"Help you do what?"

"Move the lamp to the other side of the easel. I'm afraid I'll lose my balance and break it."

"I'll get dirty."

"What a fusspot! Pick it up with one of those shirts then."

"I'm _not_ a fusspot. I'm tidy." Thomas selected one of Ella's old shirts and wrapped it around the stem of the lamp. "Where do you want it?"

"Here."

"Out of the way, then." Thomas placed the lamp. "Now what?"

"That's it. Thank you, Pooh." Bates sat and posed his hand, stood, and adjusted the lamp, and sat and stood and adjusted until he was satisfied.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to sketch my hand."

"That's a bit awkward isn't it? Why don't you sketch my hand?"

Bates considered and rejected the offer. "Thanks, Pooh, but I'll stick to my own hand. I don't want to bore you."

Thomas shrugged. "Suit yourself."

* * *

Thomas positioned the armchair so he could sit and watch Bates sketch, but Bates had been right. He was bored. Perhaps it was not boredom. Perhaps it was jealousy. He was jealous of the way Bates' picked up a piece of charcoal and brought life to a piece of paper. Even the way he posed his hand was dramatic. Instead of laying his hand on his leg or the table, he grasped the top of the easel with his fingertips, to give the impression that the owner of the hand was about to fall to his death. So ... Novello was a playwright and actor, Garland a dancer, Lucas a pianist, Ella an artist, Anna a promising dress designer ... and now ... now, even Bates proved himself to have ability. _Am I the only one with no talent?_

Thomas stretched his legs and splashed cold water on his face at the sink. His eyes settled on a small bookcase. He eagerly picked up _Manifeste du surréalisme_ , but, as he should have expected, it was in French. _I must keep my promise to learn this language._ He picked up and replaced book after book until he found one with words he recognised: _Ulysses_ by James Joyce. He remembered reading a review of the novel a few years ago but could not recall its substance ... only that the book was difficult _._ No matter. He had read Charles Lamb's _The Adventures of Ulysses_ when he was a boy, so he knew something of the story. He carried his selection to the armchair and began to read.

* * *

 **Passage de Dantzig  
Near La Ruche**

Ella hoped she had enough in her basket to feed two men. She had walked to a café that she patronised regularly, and her favourite waiter packed the basket with pâté, gherkins, bread, vichyssoise, cold poached salmon, salad with bleu cheese and walnuts, and a whole lemon loaf cake. Knowing that Bates did not indulge in alcohol, she refused the suggested bottle of wine. They would have to manage with the tonic water and the Gambetta Sirop she kept at the studio. And there was always tea.

Ella was not certain what to make of Bates. He had been a terror when he first arrived in Paris, and Vi confessed to him the truth of their situation. Could she blame him? She had been equally furious when Addy made the same confession to her the night before. She forgave Bates his rage even as his threatening figure towered over her. Had not Thomas divulged to her, in strictest confidence, his love for the man?

And now? Now Ella was intrigued by the quiet man who had taken such devoted care of Thomas, all while pretending to be his brother. She would never tell Bates that she knew the truth.

Ella wondered if she would return to the studio to find Bates staring at a blank piece of paper. No ... not him ... she understood that excitement she had seen in his eyes. The paper would be filled with something ... something awful, perhaps, but something.

* * *

 **Later that night**

 **A Taxi**

"So it's not about Ulysses?" asked Bates.

"Not literally," replied Thomas, yawning. "But there are parallels to his story ... at least that's what Ella says. I've only read a few pages, so I can't see it yet."

"Nice of her to give you the book."

"She said she got through it once and never intends to go through it again."

Bates laughed. "I like your Ella."

Thomas leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Thank you, but I don't believe I can take the credit." When Bates did not reply, Thomas turned his head without lifting it and opened his eyes. Bates was clutching his sketch. Ella had tied it between two cardboards for safe transport back to England. She had given Bates a thoughtful critique of his efforts. Now Thomas imagined that Bates was turning over her words in his mind and was eager for his next attempt. "John ...?"

"Mmm?"

"I want to ask you about Giroux."

Bates turned his eyes from the cardboard bundle in his lap to Thomas. "What do you want to know?"

"How did he end up in prison before I was able to tell what he had done?"

"He betrayed himself. Giroux's a clever man, but he made a crucial error. He never suspected that Lady Grantham wasn't truly enamoured of you."

"What difference did that make?"

"He came to Lady Bennett's house the morning after you were kidnapped with torn clothes and a scratched face. He claimed that the two of you had been drugged and kidnapped together. He said that both of you were being transported in the back of a lorry when it hit a bump, and he fell out the back. According to him, the kidnappers took him for dead and sped off."

"What does that have to do with Lady Grantham and me?"

"He wanted Lady Grantham to be generous with the ransom. He claimed that, before he fell off the lorry, you had regained consciousness. He repeated the tender things you supposedly said about her ... how you would have given anything for one more chance to be with her. Lady Grantham knew immediately that Giroux's story was a lie. She said later that you would have wanted to be with Anna and me and the children."

"So he was arrested?"

"No. He repeated his story to Inspector Martel. Lady Grantham held her tongue until Giroux went home to change his clothes."

"And that's when he was arrested."

"No. The Inspector felt the only chance to find you was to pretend to accept Giroux's story and have him followed. He hoped that Giroux would visit his accomplices and you would be found with them."

Thomas shook his head. "He never came."

Bates nodded. "The day I arrived, Lady Grantham received a phone call demanding ransom. Do you remember speaking to her?"

"I remember."

"You can't imagine our relief when we knew you were alive." Bates paused for a moment. "The next day, the ladies went to the bank and returned with what appeared to be stacks of bills ... and they were ... counterfeit bills that had been seized a month earlier."

"That must have been when Giroux rang his goons with the news, and they drank themselves stupid."

"Must have been. As soon as everyone pretended to sleep that night, Giroux stole the ransom. The Inspector, himself, followed Giroux hoping that he was on his way to meet his accomplices and split the profits, but he had no such intention. He went home for his bag and then straight to the airport where he had a private plane waiting to take him to Italy. That's when he was arrested."

The two men sat in silence for a time, Bates adjusting the cardboard on his lap, and Thomas tightening his grip on the sack Ella had given him with leftover lemon loaf.

"John, those men were never going to let me live. I could have identified them."

"I know."

"If they hadn't gotten drunk and fallen asleep at the same time ..."

"I know, Pooh. Please don't. It's too much."

Again, the two men rode in silence.

"Look, Pooh."

Thomas looked where Bates was pointing in time to see the Eiffel Tower ablaze with the name, Citroën.

Bates shook his head. "I can't believe the Eiffel Tower is used to advertise cars."

"Why not?"

"That's right. Why not."

"John ... Guy and Roch are in prison, too, aren't they?"

"Who?"

"The men who held me. Guy and Roch."

"Oh. One's in prison. The other's dead."

"Dead?"

"One of them had a gun when the police arrived, so they shot him. That must have been when you were unconscious."

"Roch. It must have been Roch." Thomas felt sick. "John, I ..." A wave of dizziness ran through him, and he felt Bates' leg press against his, something the taxi driver could not see in his rear-view mirror.

"You're all right, Pooh. I'm right here."

* * *

 **Maison de Bennett**

Thomas and Bates made their way to the servants' entrance and found Brouette in his pantry. Thomas held out the sack. "Won't you join us for some lemon cake?"

"Certainly, Monsieur Barrow." Brouette relieved Thomas of the sack. "I'll prepare some tea and bring it up straightaway. I have some news for you, Messieurs."

"What's that?" asked Bates.

"The ladies expect you to have dinner with them tomorrow night here at the house, and the next day, you're flying back to England with Lady Grantham."

"Anna will be glad to see you, Pooh."

"I'll be glad to see her. I'll be glad to see everyone!"

Thomas and Bates climbed the stairs, and Thomas felt as though he were wearing leaden shoes. He opened the bedroom door and dropped into a chair. "What's wrong with me? Why am I so tired?"

"You know very well why," replied Bates quietly as he removed his coat. "You need time to recoup your strength. And here I thought you had learned something about patience."

"It's not my patience that worries me. It's Lady Mary's. I returned to work only a few weeks ago, and now I'm incapacitated again. Why are you smiling?"

Bates pulled off his tie. "Don't you know you have a protector now. Old Lady Grantham will insist that you be given whatever time is necessary for you to recover." A knock sounded at the door. "Here's Brouette."

Brouette set down the tray. "There was more in the sack than cake, Messieurs."

"John, come and see."

Bates picked up a box from the tray and removed the attached note.

"John! A love note from my Ella? I'm jealous."

Bates read the note and smiled. He set it down and opened the box.

Thomas read the note aloud.

* * *

 _My dear John,_

 _At last I have a protégé of my own._

 _Allow me to present you with your first box of charcoals._

 _Trust yourself._

 _Dare yourself._

 _Ella_

* * *

Thomas could see how much the modest gift meant to Bates and resisted the urge to tease him. "Let's eat. Would you slice the cake, Brouette?"

The men chatted amiably as they finished off the cake and downed the tea. Thomas tried to stay in the conversation, but he was drooping and his head and hand hurt. Brouette must have noticed because he excused himself too soon.

"Aspirin, Pooh?" asked Bates after Brouette bade them goodnight.

Thomas wanted to say, _I'll get it_ , but his limbs were too heavy. "If you don't mind."

Bates brought the aspirin and water, and Thomas awaited the appearance of Mama Bear. Bates retired to the dressing room to change into his pyjamas. Thomas watched Bates go in and out of the bathroom and return to the dressing room. Still no Mama Bear. At last, Bates stuck out his head. "Don't forget your salt rinse, Pooh."

"I won't." Thomas pulled himself to his feet and shuffled to the water pitcher. Pouring the water, adding the salt, stirring, carrying the glass to the bathroom, all seemed to take an absurd amount of effort. When he finished, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. _Perhaps I'm the old goat._ As he studied his shadowed eyes, another face appeared.

"I'm trying not to push myself on you, but you won't ask for help when you need it," complained Bates as he eased Thomas out of his coat and waistcoat.

Thomas was too exhausted to defend himself.

"Headache?"

"Yes."

"Lie down and give the aspirin a chance to work."

Thomas collapsed onto the bed, and Bates removed his shoes. Thomas closed his eyes. "John, tell me something more of your childhood."

Bates sat on the edge of the bed, "It was fairly ordinary ... except for my father." He chuckled.

"What about your father?"

"My father ... Dad was a powerful man. Physically, I mean."

"Like you."

"More so. But he had a gentle nature."

"Like you."

"What an odd thing to say, Pooh. He was nothing like me."

"No?"

"He didn't have my temper. He couldn't even bring himself to give me a whipping when I was a boy, no matter how much I deserved it. Mam had to do it."

Thomas laughed. "Were you a bad boy?"

"I was a bit of a mama's boy when I was very young, but the devil found me somewhere along the way. My cousins influenced me. Dad approved of their hard-working ways and their sense of community and fair play. Once I was old enough to earn my keep on their farm, I spent most of my summers with them. But they were a rough lot, too, and then there was my temper. Dad joked that my temper came from my mother's father, who was Irish, but I never met the man. Mam would have said that my temper was born from drink. I had barely given up milk when I had my first tipple. If it hadn't been for my father's influence, I would have been a beast."

"I can't imagine that, John."

"It's the truth. I can remember once when I saw Dad's train come into the station. Two men on board had been fighting, and Dad had each by the collar. He pulled them off the train and into the nearest pub to settle their argument over a couple of pints. Dad paid. If it had been me at that age, I would have cracked their heads together and been done with it."

"I think I would have liked your father."

"Everyone liked Dad. I learned something of kindness from him in spite of my temper. Still, I knew that I could take any man no matter his size, and that belief formed the man I was. Until the Boers, anyway. South Africa taught me the humility that came naturally to Dad. That was a hard-earned lesson."

"You're more like your father than you know, John."

"I try, Pooh, but I have a long way to go. Dad never derived his sense of manhood from his physical strength the way I did. After I was wounded, I felt a loss that was greater than the loss of a good leg. Even now, I struggle to feel like a man."

Thomas was shocked. Bates rarely let down his guard. It was something they had in common.

"You changed everything, Pooh."

"Me?" Thomas sat up. "What did I do?"

"You forced me into a swimming pool. Tell me, Pooh, when we ran races in the pool, did you let me win?"

"No," Thomas answered truthfully. "The first time, I thought you won because I wasn't ready, but I was never able to beat you."

"Do you know why?"

"Because you're a monster in the pool."

Bates laughed. "It's because I have almost no pain in the pool. It's because I'm the man I used to be in the pool. And all because I trusted my little brother. I don't think you'll ever understand what you've done for me."

"Perhaps, when we move to the states, you could swim year round."

"Pooh, you're not hearing what I'm saying."

"Yes I am."

"There's more."

"About your father?"

"No, Pooh, about you."

Thomas lay back in the bed. "Maybe in the morning, John."

"Now, Pooh. I promised Anna."

"Anna?"

"We spoke about you before I left. When the telegram came that said you were missing ... Pooh, there are rare moments when we understand how fragile life is ... how we must take hold of our lives and make choices that mean something ..."

"And?"

"And we want you to be my brother."

"But ... you've done that already. You must know that I'm grateful."

"You don't understand, Pooh. We want more than that. When we move to the states, we can be whatever we want. You're good for us, Pooh, and we believe that we're good for you. We want to raise the children to believe that you're truly their uncle ... that they have a right to you. We've come to feel that you belong to us, and we want you to feel that we belong to you."

The words were too perfect. They couldn't be real. "You ... belong to me?"

"Wait here, Pooh." Thomas sat up and watched Bates disappear into the dressing room and return with an envelope. "I brought this with me because I thought I might need it."

Thomas accepted the envelope and removed the contents. Inside were two certificates of birth, his and Bates'. But it was his mother's name, Agnes, that appeared on both certificates. "John ... how ... your mother ..."

"I think she would understand, Pooh."

Thomas lightly touched his mother's name where it should not have been.

"Do you agree, Pooh? There are legal procedures for adopting children or marrying, but there's nothing for taking a brother. Only these papers and the promise we make to each other."

Thomas carefully folded the certificates and returned them to the envelope.

Bates watched Thomas intently. "I know that having a brother doesn't always turn out well. Look at what Camille Claudel's brother did to her."

"John, if it weren't for you, I would have been committed to an asylum, too."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, John, I do."

Bates took the envelope and carried it into the dressing room. He returned and leaned against the door frame. "What do you say, Pooh?"

Thomas pushed himself off the bed. "Right now, I say that my hand hurts, and I'd like my brother to help me with my buttons."


	99. A Peculiar Day

**CHAPTER 99: A PECULIAR DAY**

 **Early the next morning**

 **Thomas Barrow's Dressing Room  
 **Maison de Bennett**  
**

 _Surely I'm too young for this,_ complained Bates to himself as the need to pee forced him awake in the early hours. Dr Clarkson had assured him a few months prior that it was a perfectly normal occurrence for a man his age, but that made it no less aggravating. Bates glanced out the window as he stretched himself awake. The sky was beginning to colour but had not yet committed to a new day. He sat up and reached about with his toe until he found his slippers, stepped into them, and shuffled through Thomas' room to the bathroom. By the time he finished, a faint sliver of light had found its way through the bedroom window. He could see that Thomas had fallen asleep reading _Ulysses and_ silently eased the book from Thomas' loose grip. He marked the open page with a Charlie Chaplin bookmark that had been biding its time on the night table.

Thomas chuckled.

Bates glanced up to see that Thomas was sound asleep. _Dreaming of Ivor, no doubt._ He caught sight of Thomas' slippers on the floor exactly midway under the left side of the bed. Thomas never had to reach out a toe to find his slippers. Bates was amused by the difference in their personal habits. Everything that Thomas expected to carry in his pockets that day was arranged at right angles on top of the chest of drawers. Bates likewise kept precise order of Lord Grantham's clothing and accoutrements (it was his job, and he was well-compensated for his efforts), but he refused to be tyrannized by his own belongings. His darling Anna had not been pleased by his higgledy-piggledy habits when they married, nor by his philosophy that a perfectly kept house lacked the warmth of a home. Fortunately, Anna accepted his shortcomings in light of what she considered to be his better qualities, and they each made modest compromises to preserve their happy nest.

"John?"

Bates turned to see Thomas squinting at him. Bates picked up the clock. "I was checking the alarm. Don't forget Dr Sauvé is stopping by this morning."

"I know. I set the alarm for 9.00."

"Good." Bates set down the clock. "I'm sorry, Pooh. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't wake me. I was having a dream."

Bates grinned. "I know. You were laughing."

"Out loud?"

"Out loud."

"Huh." Thomas adjusted his injured arm. "I was dreaming about us."

"Us? I thought ... "

"We must have been farmers. We were wearing those smocks that farmers wore a hundred years ago, and we were tired and resting in a meadow after eating our lunch."

"That's because I told you about visiting my cousins' farm."

"Possibly."

"Why were you laughing?"

"We were lying in the grass, and you said, _Thomas, I'm bored. Show me something I've never seen._ "

"I called you Thomas? Not Pooh?"

"You always call me Thomas in my dreams."

"I didn't know I made regular appearances."

"Not regular. But you always call me Thomas, and you always walk without a cane."

"Do I?" Bates sat on the edge of the bed. "So ... did you show me something I'd never seen?"

"I remembered that there was something I'd always been able to do but had never shown you. I pulled off my boots ... I don't know why. Then I lifted my arms and floated into the air. It came to me as easily as breathing."

"That is something I've never seen." He tugged his lower lip as he considered the story. "You had to pull off your boots because they kept you earthbound."

"That makes sense." Thomas sat up and leaned against the headboard. "You jumped up and tried to catch my foot, but I stayed just out of your reach."

"That sounds like you."

"I did somersaults and cartwheels in the air, and you ran after me. You were laughing so hard, you couldn't catch your breath, and I felt euphoric. And then everything was spoiled."

"Why? What happened?"

"You shouted that I should teach you to fly."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I shouted back that flying couldn't be taught ... either you could fly or you couldn't."

"Oh." Bates felt oddly disappointed. "Then what?"

"You flung yourself on the grass and refused to talk to me. You wouldn't even look at me. My feelings were hurt, and I started to fall. That's when I woke up."

"I was jealous. I'm sorry, Pooh."

"Don't be silly, John. It was only a dream." Thomas slid down and curled up under the sheet.

Bates pushed himself to his feet and walked to the dressing room door. He turned back and leaned against the wall. "Pooh ... were we brothers in your dream?"

"I don't know. We did eat lunch from the same basket."

"I hope next time I won't spoil it."

Thomas closed his eyes. "I hope next time we can both fly."

* * *

 **Later that morning**

The glaring sun woke Bates, who turned from the window and pulled the sheet over his head. He recalled Thomas' appointment with the doctor and reluctantly pried himself from the bed. He couldn't find his slippers, but he found a note on the night table under his glasses.

* * *

 _J._

 _Dr Sauvé has come and gone. He said that I am fit to travel but ordered me to hospital to have a cast made for my hand. He said a cast will make things easier for me._

 _I won't repay your kindnesses by robbing you of your last day in Paris. I can manage this little chore. I'll meet you back here in time for the dressing gong. We'll have to make do without proper dinner togs, but the ladies know our situation and won't expect otherwise._

 _T._

* * *

 **Late morning**

 **Musée Rodin**

Bates was shocked by the sculpture before him but was helpless to disengage himself. A figure of a man ... heavily muscled ... his posture impossible ... mocking gravity ... his head and chest forced towards the heavens ... a figure of a woman ... lifted to the gods in the man's outstretched arms ... an obscene offering ... her serene face belied her contorted and constrained body ... the parts and the whole confounded Bates' effort to resolve his response to the grotesque thing. He circled the piece slowly, trying to unlock its meaning.

"Watch it!"

Bates turned sharply to see a sketchpad and a face red with indignation.

"Vous avez heurté mon carnet de croquis, Monsieur!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't speak French."

The face relaxed, and its complexion faded to a friendlier hue. "I said, Y _ou bumped my sketchpad_."

The face belonged to a young woman. Now it was Bates' turn to redden. Did she think he had been ogling the sculpture?

"You're British, aren't you?"

Bates nodded.

"But you're no tourist."

"What makes you say that?"

"Tourists are satisfied with _The Thinker_ and _The Kiss_. They don't bother to struggle with Rodin's more demanding works."

"It is a struggle, isn't it?"

The young woman smiled. "Some of us like the struggle, don't we?"

"Some of us don't know yet."

The young woman pushed her unkempt hair from her eyes and offered her hand. "I'm Nora Lang."

Bates shook Nora's hand. "John Bates."

"Well, Mr Bates, this piece was inspired by Baudelaire's _Fleurs du mal_."

" _Fleurs du mal_?"

" _Flowers of evil_. It's a collection of poems."

Bates nodded. "I've heard of Baudelaire, but I've never read his work."

"Good! Don't! English translations fall short."

Bates smiled at Nora's confidence. "What poem inspired the sculpture?"

" _La Beauté_. Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre ... I am beautiful, oh mortals! as a dream of stone ..."

Baffled, Bates turned to the sculpture. "Do you mean ... she's seducing him?"

"You tell me."

"I can't decide." Bates returned his attention to Nora. "Are you an art student, Miss Lang?"

"What gave me away?" asked Nora wryly.

Bates smiled in spite of his embarrassment. "May I see your sketch?"

Nora shrugged and turned her sketchpad towards Bates. "I'm just beginning. We're expected to sketch the masters until cherubs and ruffled collars are coming out of our ears. Rodin, at least, is more exciting."

Bates studied the sketch at length. Again he was shocked, this time by how fearlessly a mere schoolgirl had captured the sensuality of Rodin's figures.

"No good?"

"I was thinking how brave you are, Miss Lang."

Nora burst out laughing. "Yes, I'm one of those horrid girls who can't live my life demurely."

"Indeed. And how old is this horrid girl?"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen! Do you have family in Paris?"

"No, Chicago. But I've always known I would come here to study. I've been working and saving since I was fourteen."

Bates took a closer look at Nora. Her clothes were modest and utilitarian, and her face was thin. Too thin. He pointed to an errant pencil stroke. "You did this when I bumped you?"

"No need to worry. I have an eraser."

"No, I must compensate you for the damage I've caused. Won't you allow me to buy you lunch, Miss Lang?" Bates could see that Nora was assessing his character. He waited patiently for her decision.

"Well ... I wouldn't want to send you away feeling guilty."

"Good! But I warn you, I'm an indulgent eater, and I'll expect you to keep up so that I won't feel a glutton."

"I'll do my best," promised Nora.

* * *

 **Later that afternoon**

 **Ella's Studio at La Ruche**

Ella stared at the canvas until she was cross-eyed. "I'll never work it out," she muttered. A knock at the door gave her permission to abandon the offensive canvas. She flung open the door and shouted, "I despise all art and artists!"

Bates stood hesitantly at the entryway. "Perhaps this isn't a good time."

"Nonsense. The course of true love and art never did run smooth. Come in, John. I need a break."

Bates quietly followed Ella into the studio.

"I'm about to fix some tea. Won't you join me?"

"No thank you, Ella. I'm only in need of ... well, a bit of advice."

"I'll do my best."

"I hope you won't be offended, but I visited the Rodin Museum."

"Why on earth would I be offended? I said only that I hadn't visited because of Camille. I would never suggest that you avoid Rodin's work. I had the privilege of seeing many of his sculptures when they were first unveiled ... well before Camille was confined." Ella noted Bates' uncharacteristic fidgeting. "Now tell me what has you so discombobulated."

While Ella prepared the tea, Bates conveyed his experience at the museum.

"It was kind of you to buy lunch for the girl."

"She sucked up the food like one of those Hoovers, poor thing. She allowed me to look through her sketchpad while she ate."

"... and?"

"Her work is so ... brazen!"

"Subtlety comes with experience. She'll get there."

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant shameless. Her work is shameless."

"Her generation does love to shock."

"No, that's not it either!"

Ella placed a cup of tea in front of Bates, knowing that if it were there, he would drink it. "Stop dancing about and come to the point, John. We're both artists. You can speak frankly to me."

"But that's just it!" exploded Bates. "I'm not an artist!"

"I see," responded Ella calmly as she poured her own tea. "And how did you draw that conclusion?"

"I believe I have talent, Ella, but I don't have the nerve!"

Ella nodded noncommittally. "And by nerve, you mean ...?"

"When I saw that sculpture, Rodin revealed his soul to me. It enveloped my senses. At once, I felt revulsion and rage and sorrow and, god help me, even lust."

Ella smiled.

"What? Why are you smiling? This isn't easy to say."

"Only an artist would have responded to Rodin that way."

"No, Ella, don't twist things. I could never put my innermost self on display that way."

"No, you couldn't, John. That was Rodin's way. You'll find your own way."

Bates sighed and took a sip of tea. "Ella?"

"Yes?"

"I hope I haven't overstepped."

"What do you mean?"

"I gave Nora your name and phone number and told her you have a studio here."

"Oh?"

Bates retrieved a scrap of paper from his breast pocket." She doesn't have a phone. Here's her address and the name of her teacher."

Ella laughed. "You won't have to worry about the girl's virtue with this fellow. He's my age!"

"But competent?"

"More than competent, I can assure you."

"The child's alone, Ella. She misses her family terribly, but she's determined to remain in Paris. You'll keep an eye on her, won't you? Not let her starve. Give her advice when she needs it ... woman-to-woman."

"So my protégé has his own protégé."

"It's not that, Ella. She made me think of my little girl. I would want someone to look out for Emilia under similar circumstances."

"Don't worry, John. An artist recognizes and nurtures talent no matter how great a jealousy must be scaled first."

"What reason could you possibly have to be jealous?"

"A true artist experiences a full range of emotions, but especially jealousy."

Bates set down his cup. "In that case, Ella, I most certainly am an artist."

* * *

 **Early that evening**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
 **Maison de Bennett****

Bates entered the dressing room directly from the corridor. The bedroom door was ajar. "I'm here," he called.

"So am I," came the response.

Bates tried to organize his thoughts as he stripped to his underclothes and pulled on his robe. He padded to the bedroom where he found Thomas, similarly attired, reading at the table. "Pooh, the fan's blowing straight at you. You'll catch your death."

"I see you brought Mama Bear with you," replied Thomas without looking up.

Bates stepped between Thomas and the fan.

Thomas marked his page. "How brave you are to protect me from yon contraption, good sir."

"I'm Don Quixote," countered Bates as he turned to face the fan. "See! A windmill!"

"Pray tell me, kind knight, how is it that I'm likely to catch cold and you're not?"

Bates slapped his chest. "I have more fur."

"Can't argue there."

Bates laughed and opened his robe, letting it flutter in the fan's breeze. "If only we had electricity at the cottage."

"If only," agreed Thomas.

Refreshed, Bates turned the fan towards the centre of the room. "All right, little brother. Let's see what they've done to you."

"You mean this?" Thomas held out his cast.

Bates cradled Thomas' encased hand in his own. "That's not so bad. They left your fingers free."

"Dr Sauvé was right. It's less painful."

"I'm glad to hear it, Pooh." Bates returned the hand to its owner. He poured himself a glass of water and carried it to the window.

"Aren't you going to tell me about your final day in Paris?"

"There's not much to tell." Bates took a long sip from the glass and settled his eyes on the gardener.

Thomas joined Bates at the window. "He's German. He deserted the German army during the war."

"Mmhmm."

"You know, John, I forget that I'm wearing this thing." Thomas playfully raised his cast to Bates' chin. "I've walloped myself twice already."

"Right."

Thomas tapped Bates' bare foot with his slipper. "Where are you slippers?"

"Hmm?"

"Your slippers."

"They're lost."

"How can you lose your slippers in such a small room?"

"They're lost."

"So you said." Thomas tapped Bates' foot again. "John, is something bothering you?"

"What? No."

"Liar."

"Be careful, little brother," warned Bates.

"Sorry. I forgot your delicate sensibilities."

"You forgot my bad temper." Bates drained the glass and set it down. He stood quietly and allowed his thoughts to settle. "I'm sorry, Pooh," he began as he turned about. The room was empty. "Pooh, where are you?"

Thomas appeared from the dressing room carrying Bates' slippers. "They were on the floor of your wardrobe, right where they should have been."

"But I never keep them in the wardrobe. I like them to breathe."

"Here." Thomas slapped the slippers into Bates' hand. "They have a few gasps left in them."

"Don't be angry, Pooh."

"Why should I be angry?"

"Because I've been rude."

"Have you?" Thomas planted himself on the edge of the bed. "I hadn't noticed."

Bates dropped his slippers to the floor and stepped into them. He sat on the bed and hooked his arm about Thomas' neck.

 _Bates was aware that Thomas rarely initiated physical contact between them, and he knew why. He thought it was a damn shame, but at the same time, he thought it was for the best. The responsibility for introducing shows of innocent affection between Thomas and himself had fallen to his own shoulders. Typically, he employed horseplay with varying degrees of roughness. He was particularly fond of a headlock, a manly form of embrace._

"You're not the only one of us who can be moody, Pooh. Forgive me this instant," Bates demanded, tightening his loose grip.

"Not 'til you tell me what made you morose!"

"Judge not, that ye be not judged, Pooh." Bates gave Thomas' cheek a good tweak with his free hand.

"Ow!" Thomas covered his face with his hand. "My eye! My black eye!"

"Oh god!" Bates released his hold. "I forgot! What can I do?"

Thomas flung his uninjured arm across Bates' chest and pinned him to the bed. "It was my other eye, you old goat! Now tell me!"

"I give! I give!" laughed Bates. "Shouldn't we be picking out our clothes for dinner?"

"Tell me!"

"I had a peculiar day, that's all. It had nothing to do with you."

"Tell me!" Thomas tickled Bates under his arm.

 _Bates thought it a grave flaw in his character that he was ticklish. It was Timothy who had discovered his Achilles' heel and would use it on occasion to elicit a giggle from his serious daddy. Never before had Thomas dared._

"Stop!" Bates begged, trying to wriggle free. "Stop! We'll talk about it tonight!"

"You mean a pyjama party?"

"Yes! Stop! Fine! A pyjama party!"

"Good." Thomas sat up, leaving Bates to collect his shredded dignity. "Let's dress for dinner."


	100. Perfectly Ordinary

**CHAPTER 100: PERFECTLY ORDINARY**

 **Immediately after**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

"Was that necessary?" muttered Bates as he straightened his robe and removed himself to the dressing room.

The question annoyed Thomas, who distracted himself by examining the limited selection in his wardrobe. He shoved hangers back and forth until he settled on the dark charcoal. The suit's smart cut would show off his trim figure and perhaps draw attention from his wired teeth. He caught sight of his forlorn evening trousers and paused to mourn the demise of its matching jacket. _No matter. It wouldn't be any fun to strut about if John had nothing spiffy to wear._

Bates reappeared and walked briskly to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. In a fit of exasperation, Thomas slammed the wardrobe shut and stood outside the bathroom waiting for Bates to sense his righteous presence. Bates gave him no such satisfaction.

"John ...?"

"I'm bathing."

 _Fine. I can play that game. I can be insouciant._ Thomas had learned the word during his time in Paris and thought he sounded continental when he used it. At last Bates opened the door, wrapped in a towel, and Thomas followed him to the dressing room. "So I tickled you," he remarked offhandedly. "So what? So now we're at outs?"

"I'm dressing," replied Bates. He shut the door, leaving Thomas on the other side.

"But that's it, isn't it?" Thomas shouted through the door.

"Is it?"

"Don't pull that mystery man stuff on me, John. I know you too well."

"Do you?"

"Why must you always have the last word?"

"You're imaging things, little brother."

"Don't patronize me, John!' barked Thomas, irritated by Bates' composure. "Why must everything be your way? Why must you always be the one who decides how things are going to be?" Thomas lowered his voice. "Are you aware that you all but ordered me to confess my worst years to you. You weren't satisfied until you heard every sordid detail. Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to tell you about Northcott?"

Bates opened the door. "I believe I do," he answered quietly.

For a moment, Thomas lost his sense of the argument. Bates was standing too close, and the faint scent of talc was too appealing. Bates stepped away, and Thomas' indignation was reignited. "What about you, John?"

"What about me?"

"What are your secrets? What makes Bonnie John tick? Hmm? You don't confide in me the way you expect me to confide in you."

"Of course not."

"But ...?" Thomas' resentment dissolved, and he leaned against the door frame. "John ... don't you trust me?"

Bates pulled on his trousers. "I trust you completely, Pooh, but there's one crucial difference between us."

"What difference?"

Bates held up two pairs of shoes. "Which, little brother?"

"The quarter brogues. Answer me, John. What's the difference between us?"

"The difference?" Bates sat on the bed and pulled on the shoes. "The difference is that I'm a coward."

Thomas took a moment to grasp the words. "You're teasing me. That's not kind of you, John."

"You wanted my confession, Pooh, and that's it. I'm a dyed in the wool coward. Now help me find my reading glasses. The housemaids move everything."

* * *

 **An hour later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

Thomas emerged from the bathroom refreshed and hungry. "John?"

"In here," called Bates from the dressing room. "I thought I'd get a start on packing."

Thomas dressed as well as he could manage. "Help me, John. This cast is impossible."

Bates leaned into the bedroom grinning. "Look at my little brother asking for help."

Thomas waggled his finger. "Mind your manners, you old goat."

"Why, I'm as docile as a lamb," teased Bates, batting his eyelashes. Thomas laughed, and that was all Bates wanted. He gave Thomas' hair one good tousle before doing up his buttons and fastening his cuff links.

Thomas looped a tie around his neck. "I thought I heard you speaking to someone while I was in the bath."

"Did you?"

"Yes. It sounded like Brouette."

Bates fixed a proper knot in Thomas' tie. "I remember now. He wanted to know if his little invention kept your cast dry."

"It certainly did. He made it from the sleeve of an old Mackintosh and added press studs. He's a clever man."

"Resourceful, too. You like him, don't you, Pooh?"

Thomas opened his jar of Brilliantine. "Why wouldn't I like him? Don't you?"

"That's not what I meant. I meant ... damn it, Pooh, you know what I meant."

"John!" Thomas lowered his voice. "You don't even know if he's ..."

"Uranian?"

"Stop it, John!" Thomas stood in front of the mirror and carefully applied the oil to his hair. "That's not how it works."

"Then tell me how it works."

"John, you're impossible. You believe that if two queer men bump into each other, they fall in love."

"I do not. And don't use that word, Pooh. I don't like it."

"Well, that's the word they're using this season."

The two men fell silent. Thomas wiped his hands on a towel, and Bates stood by the mirror and watched as he combed his hair. "I'm sorry, Pooh. I only want you to be happy. I want ..."

"I know what you want, John. But you can't force these things."

"I know." Bates moved next to Thomas, and the two men gazed at their reflections.

"What do you think, John?"

"I think you look delicious."

Thomas laughed. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

"Starving! What about me? I don't look too bad ... for an undertaker."

"Don't worry, John. Ivor and I will get you fixed up before we go to the states."

"God help me."

* * *

 **A few minutes later**

 **The Sitting Room**  
 **Maison de Bennett**

Bates and Thomas found the women in the sitting room wearing their day dresses, and Bates was pleased by the simple gesture.

The Dowager stood when they entered and approached Thomas. "You've kept me waiting far too long. Let's have a look at you."

Thomas stood for a moment of inspection, then kissed the Dowager's cheek. "Will I do, my darling?"

Bates was stunned. "I beg your pardon, milady. It must be the concussion. My brother's confused."

The Dowager waved her hand. "Nonsense, Bates. Everything seems perfectly ordinary to me. Perhaps you're the one who's confused." The Dowager resumed her seat on the sofa. "Come sit by me, mon loulou."

"Whatever you wish, my darling."

Ella patted the cushion next to her. "Come take refuge here, John."

Bates accepted the seat gratefully. "Mon loulou?" he whispered. Ella nodded and stifled a giggle.

Lady Bennett took charge of the conversation. "Let's see the worst of it, Barrow. Show us your teeth."

"I couldn't possibly, Lady Bennett," replied Thomas. "It would offend you."

Lady Bennett smiled tolerantly. "Everyone here has lived through a war. We've seen far worse than two dismantled teeth. We're the cause of your condition, Barrow. You must allow us to see the damage and tell us what's to be done."

Bates could not restrain himself. "Milady, you've been generous, and I don't want to appear unappreciative, but I can't allow you to embarrass my brother."

"Do you make a habit of speaking for him, Bates?" chided Lady Bennett.

Thomas leaned forward. "He certainly does _not_. Look if you must." He curled up his lip to reveal the wire.

"Isn't that a cunning device," observed Ella.

"Does the dentist honestly expect the teeth to stick, mon loulou?"

"Enough to give it a try," replied Thomas. "And if they don't, I can always have a bridge made."

"If it comes to that, we'll take care of the cost, Barrow," insisted Lady Bennett. "It's only fair."

"Yes, it is," agreed Thomas bluntly, and to Bates' astonishment, the three women laughed genially.

"You could have diamonds where your teeth should be," suggested Ella. "I could design it."

"Diamonds! Would you consent to me having a blinding smile, my sweet?" Thomas asked the Dowager.

"I could manage it. I still have my eclipse screen." The three women laughed again, and Thomas joined their merriment.

"A smile like that won't be unique when you move to the states," remarked Ella. "I hear that Americans are more concerned with their children's teeth than their education. They worship dentifrice."

Bates was certain he had misheard, but Thomas shifted in his seat and spoke in a cautious tone. "You know about our ... _interest_ in the states?"

The Dowager patted Thomas' hand. "My dear boy, you must know that Addy, Ella, and I are each a thousand years old ..."

"Excuse me, Vi, but I'm the youngest. I'm only nine hundred ninety-nine," corrected Lady Bennett.

"And I don't look a day over eight hundred," protested Ella.

"Very well. The point is that one does not survive for so many years without knowing everything worth knowing."

Ella tapped Bates' shoulder. "Let me decode that for you. She means we have spies everywhere."

"Does Lord Grantham know?" asked Thomas.

"My son? Let him recruit his own spies." The women laughed, and Thomas turned to Bates and shrugged.

"Dinner is served," announced Brouette.

Thomas escorted the Dowager and Lady Bennett into the dining room, and Bates offered his arm to Ella. Bates thought of himself as a man's man and was not adept at making small talk with women. He was relieved to be sitting next to Ella with whom he felt at ease. On the other hand, Thomas seemed to be in his element, joking and chatting and making the Dowager titter.

Bates knew that Brouette had consulted with the chef that afternoon about Thomas' cast. Thomas had no difficulty with the hors d'oeuvre: delicate quail eggs crowned with caviar. Cold tomato and tarragon soup posed no problem, and he managed the lighter-than-air fried fish quenelles easily with a fork. But when Brouette carved a crown roast of lamb, Bates could see the apprehension in Thomas' eyes. Bates had faith in the considerate Frenchman, and he was not disappointed. After the others were served, Brouette nimbly swapped the platter for a dish on which bite-sized morsels of lamb had been arranged, each a jewel glistening in a drizzle of hazelnut butter. He set the dish before Thomas with a cheerful wink. The lamb course was followed in quick succession by fig-stuffed squabs, presented with the heads intact, and asparagus à la hollandaise. Thomas received a specially prepared plate for each. As the meal progressed, Thomas defeated sweet potato fritters admirably, managed raspberry ice with aplomb, and held his own when it came time to crack the caramelized sugar on his crème brûlée. Brouette did not forget Bates' limitations and served him a refreshing mix of club soda and grapefruit juice whenever he made rounds with the wine. No one chose to notice these irregularities.

Bates did not want to overdo, knowing his plans for that night, but he also knew that his next dinner would be a filling but ordinary stew in the servants' hall of Grantham House.

The diners were picking at the last bit of blue cheese and berries when Lady Bennett rose from her seat. Bates and Thomas stood, and Lady Bennett addressed them. "We'll pass through now. Brouette has selected some excellent cigars for your enjoyment."

"You're most kind, Lady Bennett," began Bates. "The meal was delightful, and so was the company."

"This time my brother may speak for me," added Thomas.

The Dowager set down her serviette and stood as well. "Forgive us for the short evening, mon loulou. No cards tonight. Tomorrow is a long day, and you mustn't overdo."

"And the next time I see you, we'll be milady and Barrow?"

"That's how it will be, dear boy."

"Then I'll say goodnight, my darling." Thomas moved closer and kissed the Dowager sweetly on the cheek and whispered, "I'll miss you."

"D'accord. Goodnight, mon loulou."

Ella rose to join the women. "I'll see you in the morning, gentlemen. Enjoy the cigars. It must be someone's birthday somewhere, right Thomas?"

Thomas chuckled. "Right, Ella." He watched Brouette carry the cigar tray to the table and did not notice Ella and Bates' exchanging nods.

Thomas selected a cigar from the humidor and closed his eyes as he passed it under his nose. "Mmm, that's everything it should be."

Brouette and Bates took the opportunity to mouth a few clandestine words to each other.

Thomas opened his eyes. "Brouette, we insist you join us."

"If you can spare the time," hinted Bates.

"I appreciate the invitation, Messieurs, but our staff is small, and I must take care of my other duties."

Thomas trimmed the cigar with the cutter on the tray. "Certainly Lady Bennett will excuse you for our last night here."

Bates interrupted. "We can't continue to impose on Brouette's time, little brother. If we detain him now, he'll be forced to do double the work tomorrow."

Thomas looked from Bates to Brouette. "Is that true?"

"I don't mean to be rude, Monsieur Barrow."

"And I don't mean to be inconsiderate. But we'll see you before we leave tomorrow, won't we?"

"You have my word on it." Brouette reached for a tray of dishes.

"Wait, please," called Thomas. "What does _d'accord_ mean?"

"D'accord? It means agreed."

"Agreed?"

"As though you and the person you're addressing are of the same mind."

Thomas smiled. "Thank you, Brouette." He selected a cigar and tucked it in Brouette's breast pocket. "Think of us when you smoke this."

Brouette returned the smile. "D'accord," he replied as he picked up the tray and left.

The British valet and butler took possession of chairs usually occupied by their betters. Thomas trimmed a cigar for Bates, and Bates ceremoniously held up the lighter. "Ready, mon loulou?"

Thomas grinned and waggled his finger. Bates performed the honours, and the two men sat side-by-side, cigars in the air, puffing away, until nothing was left but two small stubs.


	101. One More Night

**CHAPTER 101: ONE MORE NIGHT**

 **A short time later**

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

"Someday we'll enjoy cigars at our own table in our own dining room," declared Thomas as he and Bates returned to the bedroom.

"As long as Anna doesn't catch us," cautioned Bates. The two men shared a chuckle. Bates stood by the window to catch the breeze. "Last Christmas, Lady Mary gave Anna a bottle of perfume, the kind of thing Anna would never buy for herself. She wears it only at night ... only for me." He closed his eyes. "When I block out the world, the scent finds its way to me, and I can imagine she's here."

Thomas watched silently as Bates conjured his soul mate. Eight years of marriage, and still Bates could behave as though he were a newlywed. Thomas was jealous of the desire Anna inspired in Bates, but the attendant anger had dissipated long ago. He was part of the family now, and family counted more than jealousy.

Bates opened his eyes. "I miss her, Pooh."

"It's only one more night, John."

"Only one more night ..."

"John ...?" began Thomas as he loosened his tie.

"Let me help you with that." Bates removed Thomas' tie and opened his collar.

"John ... you confessed something intimate to me."

Bates smiled that half smile of his. "Did I? When was that?"

"You know, John. Just now."

"Does that make you happy, little brother?"

"Yes."

"Good." Bates began unbuttoning Thomas' waistcoat and shirt. "This has been a long day for you. Are you tired?"

"No, I had a nap this afternoon after the doctor finished my cast. Don't you think it odd the way Lady Grantham packed me off to bed early?"

"She was only looking out for her _loulou_."

"John! I had better not hear that name bandied about in London!"

"Certainly not," replied Bates, refusing to take the bait. "Shall we change?"

"We may as well. And then a game of cards, I suppose." Thomas opened a drawer. "Where are my pyjamas?"

Bates peeked over Thomas' shoulder. "What do you mean? They're right there."

"Not my red pyjamas. My other pyjamas."

"You gave them to Brouette to wash. Remember?"

Thomas searched his mind. "But he gave them back, John. I distinctly remember putting them in this drawer!"

"It's your concussion, Pooh. You put away union suits and handkerchiefs, not pyjamas."

Thomas tried to envision the small stack of clothes Brouette had delivered, but his memory abandoned him. "You must be right." His mind pointed out a new problem. "But I can't pack without my pyjamas."

"Of course you can. Brouette promised them first thing in the morning." Bates headed for the dressing room. "I'm going to change. I suggest you do the same."

Thomas undressed slowly, limited as he was to the use of one hand. He missed Anna, too, and Timothy and Emilia. Babies changed so quickly, and he was keen to witness all he could of the children's metamorphoses. He pulled on his pyjamas, and his thoughts turned to Novello as they always did when he ran a hand over the red silk. Certainly that's what Novello intended.

"Dressed?" called Bates.

"Except for the buttons."

Bates came to the doorway in his pyjamas and posed. Thomas fell back with an audible gasp. Bates assumed an air of world-weariness. "Am I as magnificent as that?" he yawned.

Thomas' confusion gave way to delight. Bates was wearing emerald silk pyjamas with ornate frog fasteners. He turned to reveal the figure of a peacock with its tail feathers fanned across his back. "You look ..." Thomas was thinking _handsome_ , but his mouth settled on, "... _swank_ , John, truly swank. But they must have cost as much as one of your suits. I mean ..."

Bates laughed. "Don't worry, Pooh. They're borrowed."

"But why? It's only the two of us."

"Little brother, have you forgotten the promise I made you?"

"What promise? John, you don't mean the pyjama party?"

"Don't I?"

"But, John, I wasn't going to hold you to that."

"Why not? Don't you know that my word is my bond?" Bates buttoned Thomas' pyjama top. "There. Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Thomas glanced about the room to see if he had missed something.

"This room is no place for a party. We're headed somewhere better suited."

Thomas wondered what sort of fun Bates had improvised especially for him and felt wonderfully flattered.

"Wait!" Bates placed a hand firmly on the door to hold it shut. "This will never do." He paced about, inspecting Thomas, tapping his chin, and muttering to himself. "We need to smarten you up a bit."

"My pyjamas do seem rather dowdy next to yours."

"I have just the thing." Bates reached behind the dressing room door to retrieve a deep blue silk robe with kimono sleeves. Thomas tried to contain his excitement as he slipped on the robe. Bates arranged the robe's broad sash. "The blue brings out your eyes," he observed, batting his eyelashes.

Bates' silliness was infectious. Thomas felt giddy as he admired himself in the mirror. A ferocious gold dragon wound its way up the robe's back, and its head dropped over his shoulder, flaunting its long red tongue. "John ...?"

"Yes, little brother?"

"This is Brouette's doing, isn't it?"

"Undoubtedly."

"How did he find these so quickly?"

"He didn't have to find them. It seems that Lord Bennett wears this sort of thing for lounging. According to Brouette, these don't compare to the pyjamas Bennett keeps at his estate."

A thought entered Thomas' head. "You devil! You hid my other pyjamas, didn't you, so I'd wear the silk?"

"It's a distinct possibility."

Thomas was too elated to be cross. "What else do you have up your sleeve?"

Bates picked up Old Ram and headed for the door. "Let's see."

* * *

Bates held a finger to his lips as they descended the stairs and crossed the centre hall to the opposite stairs.

"What's up here," asked Thomas in a hushed tone. "More bedrooms?"

"Among other things," replied Bates. "Are you aware that Lord and Lady Bennett have six children?"

"That wasn't such a large family when they were young."

"No, but they were more fortunate than some. All their children survived and married. Now they have 15 grandchildren and 28 great-grandchildren."

"A dynasty!"

The two reached the landing, and Bates glanced at a piece of paper he'd taken with him. "We turn right."

The two men turned, and Thomas noted several doors on one side of the corridor but only one on the other. Bates led Thomas to the lone door. "Imagine what it's like when 28 children come to call on their elderly great-grandparents."

Thomas laughed. "That must be a bit much even for Lady Bennett."

"She insisted on a playroom when the house was designed so she'd have a place to corral them. A room in a separate wing, so the adults could have peace and quiet on their own side."

"So ... we can't be heard from here?"

"That's right." Bates gave two sharp knocks on the door with Old Ram.


	102. By the Beautiful Sea

**AUTHOR'S CONFESSION:**

Writing is hard! I thought this chapter would be easy. Now I'll stay warm this winter burning the pages that ended up in the wastebasket.

Raymond O'Katz

* * *

 **CHAPTER 102: BY THE BEAUTIFUL SEA**

 **Immediately after**

 **The Playroom  
Maison de Bennett**

 _I hope he won't be disappointed_ , thought Bates as he watched Thomas' excitement build. Brouette had promised, on the strict Q.T., a cheerful room and a gramophone, but Bates had given him little time to prepare beyond that.

The door opened a mere crack. "Password?" demanded a gruff voice.

Bates hesitated, but Thomas readily accepted this new bit of whimsy. "Heebie-jeebies."

"Enter!" The door flung open to reveal Brouette in a bed sheet toga and opera hat.

Thomas gave the toga a playful tug. "Brouette, I thought this was a pyjama party. What kind of pyjama is this?"

"A sheet's used for sleeping, isn't it? Am I not entitled to artistic license?"

The two butlers joked while Bates took stock of the premises. The large room was cheerful, as promised, but there was not a toy in sight. The far right corner was defined by a linoleum floor and bounded by a counter and stools. A refrigerator, sink, hob, and cupboard were stationed against the wall. The near right corner was carpeted and strewn with cushy pillows, low sofas, and several occasional tables. The entire left side of the room sported a handsome wood floor inlaid with musical notes, just the thing for dancing. A piano and gramophone sat to the side, and two ukuleles hung on the wall, all begging to be played. The end wall displayed a delightfully nonsensical mural. "What kind of a playroom is this?"

"Everyone asks that," acknowledged Brouette. "The eldest great-grandchild was an adult when the house was built and several were catching up to her. Lady Bennett called this the playroom as a jest, but the name stuck."

Bates was drawn to the mural. He had seen a painting with the same dreamlike quality in an art magazine. It made him yearn for something that eluded him. _Chagall. Marc Chagall._ "Brouette, that wall ... don't tell me it was painted by ..."

"That's right," replied Brouette. He adjusted his toga and cocked his hat. "Gentlemen, I'm your host for the night. Please allow me to make introductions."

There was not another soul in the room, but Bates was learning to take Brouette at his word.

Brouette stepped into the empty corridor. "Merrymakers, present yourselves!"

Two men entered, one unusually small and the other terribly thin. The small man was lugging a wood panel that had been painted bright yellow on one side, and the thin man carried a nondescript bundle. Both were wearing summer union suits that ended at the knee, black socks and garters, and bowlers that seemed too large for their heads. They tipped their hats in unison, and that was all Bates needed to recognize Ella and Nora. He was embarrassed by the pair's immodest outfits, no matter how charming. _Nonsense_ , he told himself. _These are modern times. It's a hot night, and they're wearing as much as women wear at the beach every day._

"John, it's Ella!" exclaimed Thomas. "And who's this?" he asked as he approached Nora to shake her hand.

"I'm Nora Lang. Mr Bates and I met earlier today, and he invited me to lunch."

Thomas glanced sideways at Bates. "I'm certain Mr Bates will tell me all about it."

"I'm certain I'll have to," murmured Bates.

"This woman," continued Nora, "whose sanity I doubted ... sorry, Ella, but I did ... showed up at my doorstep and claimed to be a friend of Mr Bates. She gave me directions to this house and asked me to arrive at the servants' entrance at midnight with this." She held up the bundle and gestured to the panel. "I didn't know what to think, but she gave me cab fare and promised me supper, and that cinched it. Mr Brouette provided the clothes," she added.

"And you cut quite the handsome figure in them!" jollied Thomas. "I'm all aflutter."

Nora bowed deeply. "I'm aflattered that you're aflutter. Who is this creature, Mr Bates?"

"This creature would be my brother, Thomas Barrow."

"Brother? But your names ..."

"Half-brother."

"Enough of etiquette!" complained Ella. "This is a party, and we're to address each other by our given names. Brouette, what the blazes _is_ your given name."

"Maximilien."

"Max it is!" Ella declared as she dragged the panel across the carpet to the kitchen. "Max, we'll need some old newspapers for the linoleum. And I almost forgot ... Nora and I were followed up the stairs."

Thomas lit up. "More guests?"

"Perhaps." Brouette returned to the corridor and demanded the presence of more revellers.

In strode a grim-faced bald man, about Bates' age, wearing an old-fashioned nightshirt complete with cap. By appearance, Bates guessed him to be Japanese.

Brouette gestured to the new guest. "This is our eminent chef, Gaston Ojima. Gaston, we're on a first name basis tonight. Ella's orders."

Thomas hesitated only a moment before extending his hand to the forbidding man. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gaston. I'm Thomas, and this is my brother, John. You must be the chef who kept me fed when I couldn't chew."

Gaston broke into a wide grin that shattered his former menacing presence. He caught Bates by surprise when he spoke with the same native accent as the French housemaids. "If to meet me is ze pleazhure, zen look at zees."

A cheery woman, closer to Thomas' age, stepped through the door on cue. She was wearing harem-style lounging pyjamas, the kind worn by daring women a dozen or more years earlier. Silk tassels hung above her feet, intended, no doubt, to draw attention to her exposed ankles. A sash was wound twice about her small waist and a matching band contained her short hennaed hair.

"This lovely lady is our housekeeper, Imogene Lees."

"Call me Jenny." Judging from Imogene's accent, she was an Englishwoman to the core. "You must be the young man who came to Paris to keep Lady Grantham _entertained_."

"Guilty," replied Thomas. "I'm Thomas, and this is my brother, John."

"I've been warned about the dangerous man with the cane. You don't seem terrifying to me, John."

Thomas harrumphed, but Bates offered his hand and bowed gallantly. "I'm pleased to meet you, Jenny. I'm afraid I wasn't myself when I first arrived in your city. The circumstances. You understand."

"I understand that this is a party, and I don't hear music," Imogene answered brightly. She took each brother by an arm. "You must help me choose something gay, or Gaston will have us listening to Stravinsky or some such noise. The _Rite of Spring_ frightened me to death when I first heard it!"

"Yet here you are," noted Thomas.

Imogene paused for a confused moment, then roared with laughter. "Bravo, my boy!"

Imogene and her new best friends pored over the records stored under the gramophone while Nora and Gaston set out a cold supper of charcuterie, olives, melon slices, and bread that had been hidden in the playroom's kitchen. Nora held a piece of buttered bread in her mouth while she filled her plate.

"The great-grandchildren must be fond of American jazz," observed Thomas as he rifled through the music.

"Who isn't?" Imogene wound the gramophone and played her selection. " _Fascinating Rhythm_. That's Fred and Adele Astaire singing. My sister and I saw them last year in London." She closed her eyes and seemed transported.

Bates found himself tapping the syncopated rhythm with Old Ram. "The song's well-named."

Thomas nudged Bates and nodded towards the kitchen counter where Nora was perched on a stool happily gorging herself. "Your little friend must be starving," he whispered under the music.

"She is starving, a starving artist. Lives in a garret, the whole works."

Brouette, who had dashed out for Ella's newspapers, returned in the company of yet another female. "Attention, please. A straggler has arrived."

Bates looked up to see a striking woman wearing a peach step-in combination and carrying a steaming platter of spaghetti. She wore a gold turban, gold hoop earrings, and gold heels. A sparkling blue strawberry brooch was pinned to the turban above a large spit curl. Again Bates was disconcerted by the woman's show of skin. Still, he allowed himself to wonder how Anna might look in a modern undergarment and if she could be convinced to wear one.

Thomas grabbed Bates' wrist. "John, it's Josephine Baker!"

"Spaghetti!" shouted Nora.

"Spaghetti Bolognese!" Baker shouted back. She joined Nora at the counter where the two gave themselves ample servings.

Bates studied Thomas who seemed frozen to the spot. "Aren't you going to introduce me? You know her, don't you?"

"That's right." The two men approached Baker, whose fork was keeping pace with Nora's. "Mademoiselle Baker ...?" Thomas began.

"Josephine," she corrected. "Forgive my manners. I'm always famished after a show."

"Josephine, do you remember me ... Thomas Barrow from Yorkshire?"

"Remember you? Aren't you the farmer who broke our date to dance at my club?"

"No, well, yes, but ..."

Baker dropped her fork and gave Thomas a hug. "Of course I remember you, you silly goose. Why do you think I'm here?"

Bates heard Thomas let out his breath.

"And is this the brother with the beloved wife?"

"That's right," answered Bates offering his hand. "John's the name."

"Won't you have some spaghetti, John?"

"It's tempting, but we finished dinner only an hour ago. Later perhaps, if I can wait that long."

"It'll be cold. I adore cold spaghetti, don't you?"

Nora slammed the table. "Amen to that!"

Baker put her arm about Nora's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "I knew I liked you. And you, Thomas, don't forget you owe me a Charleston. I intend to collect."

"I always honour my debts, Josephine ... especially those not involving money."

Brouette opened the refrigerator and pulled out several chilled bottles. "We have champagne for those who indulge and Vitmo for those who don't," he announced.

"Champagne?" asked Nora. "May I have a glass? I've never had champagne."

"Certainly," replied Brouette, opening a bottle.

Bates stepped behind the counter and held his hand over the glass. "Just a moment, please. Nora, is this going to be your first taste of alcohol?"

Nora held up her right hand. "Absotively!"

"Are there heavy drinkers in your family?"

Nora thought for a moment. "I can't remember. I was ten when prohibition was passed."

The others laughed, but Bates persisted. "And are there scofflaws in your family?"

"No one's ever mentioned it."

Bates smiled. "All right, Max." He leaned close to Nora. "Don't overdo the first time; see how it affects you."

Nora nodded and took a sip.

"Well?" asked Thomas. "What's the verdict?"

"I like the bubbles, but I'd rather have spaghetti."

"I'm glad to hear it." Bates opened a bottle of Vitmo and poured himself a glass.

Baker looked about. "What's happened to Ella?"

"I'm down here!" called Ella from the kitchen floor.

Baker propped herself up on the stool footrest and peeked over the counter. "What on earth are you doing down there?"

"Looking for artistic inspiration."

"On the floor? What have you got there?"

Bates was curious too. Ella had covered the floor with newspaper and laid the panel on top, yellow side up. "I was about to leave home for dinner here when Max gave me a ring about the party. I grabbed this on my way out and some tempera and pastels and what-not. I had only painted the background, and I thought it might be fun to create something as a group. I'll try to sell it as an abstract. Wouldn't that be a riot?"

"Hot dog!" whooped Baker. "Me first! I know exactly what to do." Baker plopped herself on the newspaper, threw off her heels, and applied green paint to the bottoms of her feet. She placed one foot on the canvas and shifted her weight. "Give me a hand, Ella." Ella helped her balance, and she moved across the length of the canvas so that each step landed at a different angle. When she reached the opposite end, she hopped onto the newspaper. "Max, do you have something I can use to wash my feet?"

"There must be something in here." Brouette opened the cupboard. "Here's a punch bowl. That should do the trick." He filled the large bowl with hot water from the tap.

Thomas took Baker's hand. "Josephine, I humbly beseech you to grant me the privilege of washing your feet," he reeled off with a lofty flourish and a bow.

Bates interrupted. "Thomas, have you forgotten your cast? I'm sorry, Josephine. My brother is chivalrous to a fault, but the plaster mustn't get wet."

Max placed the filled bowl on the newspaper. "You may always rely on a Frenchman to rescue a demoiselle en détresse. I'd be pleased to serve as Thomas' second, Josephine."

"You're a gracious darling, Max, but when a man is unable to fulfil his duties, he must deputize his brother. John, it's up to you to perform the honours."

"Forgive me, Josephine, but I couldn't possibly."

"John, what are you doing?" Thomas hissed into Bates' ear.

Before Bates could explain himself, Baker took hold of Ella's arm. "Ella, il refuse à cause de ma couleur," she accused.

"Non, ma chérie, ce n'est pas possible! John, you must tell us why you are refusing my dear friend's request."

"Of course." Bates could not imagine what he had done to cause such a ruckus. A few moments ago, Josephine was perfectly content to wash her own feet. He could feel his cheeks redden. "Josephine, I hope you won't think ill of me, but please understand that I'm a married man. I don't believe my wife would appreciate my washing feet that are attached to such ... excuse me for saying it, dear lady, but you must know that your legs are famous for their ability to mesmerize men."

"Ella, est-ce qu'il dit la vérité?"

"Oui."

Baker turned to Bates contritely. "John, please forgive me for making a fuss. I jumped to an unfortunate conclusion."

"Who am I to forgive? I've been known to make a few unsound leaps myself."

Baker smiled. "Tell me, John, are you happily married?"

"I am and a proud papa to boot."

"And I'm a proud uncle." Thomas put his hands on Bates' shoulders. "John, there's a simple solution to your leg problem."

"It's not my problem," protested Bates. "It's Anna's problem."

"Nevertheless, I have the answer. Cover Josephine's legs with my robe."

Baker gazed at Bates intently. "Would that satisfy you?"

"The question is, would it satisfy my wife."

"And?"

"I believe it would, as long as Thomas agrees to testify on my behalf should it become necessary."

"Agreed," promised Thomas.

"Then there's only one small problem, but I believe I can solve it myself."

"And what's that?"

"My cane isn't for decoration, dear lady. If I were to sit on the floor, it would take all the King's men to put me right again."

"That's true," confirmed Thomas. "And we wouldn't want to bother the King's men at this hour."

"Certainly not," agreed Baker. "What's your solution?"

Bates patted the countertop. "Would you mind sitting up here?"

Baker turned her back to the counter and boosted herself up.

"Nicely done." Bates averted his eyes from the pair of knees that were staring back at him. "Thomas, the robe!"

Thomas removed his robe and tucked it securely about Baker's legs with his good hand. He whispered something at length into Baker's ear that made her giggle.

"Max, would you kindly bring me the piano bench." Brouette obliged, and Bates turned the bench perpendicular to the counter. He straddled the end, and Brouette placed the bowl and the soap on the bench in front of him. A pitcher of rinse water sat on the counter ready for swift deployment, and Thomas stood attendant with towels. Bates tested the water and gently eased Baker's left foot into the bowl without the loss of one shred of his dignity.

"Mmm. Warm."

"Not too warm, I hope."

"Just warm enough," answered Baker, leaning back on her elbows.

"Thomas, I'm relying on you to keep that robe in place. Do you understand, little brother?"

"Oh, I understand all right." Thomas began to sing.

"By the sea, by the sea,  
by the beautiful sea!  
You and me, you and me,  
oh how happy we'll be!"

Bates massaged the soap's lather into Baker's foot until the last trace of paint was expelled. Thomas poured the rinse water with his good hand, still singing.

"When each wave comes a-rolling in  
We will duck or swim,  
And we'll float and fool around the water."

Bates wrapped the clean foot in a towel and kneaded the precious flesh through the terry cloth as it dried.

"You do that rather well, John," purred Baker. "How is that?"

"Yes, John, how is that?" echoed Thomas.

"Thomas, you know very well that before I joined the army I was a footman."

* * *

The party continued as parties do, with music, meaningless chatter, and heartfelt confessions. Brouette kept the party moving from one bit of nonsense to the next. Bates felt he was too old for such foolishness, but when he saw the fun Thomas was having, he knew he had no choice but to embrace the frivolity.

Brouette held up a matchbox and slid out the box from its cover. "Here's a game to break the ice. We pass the cover from nose to nose," he instructed, "and the first to drop it must suffer the consequences. Remember, no hands!"

The cover was passed to Bates by Baker, who tried to make him laugh by crossing her large eyes. He passed the cover to Imogene, who was every bit as attractive as Baker, if less exciting. _Are there no disagreeable women living in Paris?_ Bates wondered to himself.

It was Gaston who was the first to drop the cover. "Gaston, you must spin ten times, then drink champagne from the wrong side of the glass," sentenced Brouette.

 _How childish_ , thought Bates, but he could not help laughing when Gaston sputtered.

The others paired off for dancing, and Bates posted himself at the gramophone to ensure a steady stream of ditties. The gang demonstrated for Nora the ragtime animal dances that were all the rage before the war, from the duck waddle to the kangaroo hop. Nora reciprocated by teaching her new acquaintances the latest dance craze from the states. Soon the floor was bouncing with flea hoppers.

When the exhausted dancers flung themselves across the pillows for a breather, Brouette assigned the next game to Bates. Bates flipped through the dictionary that Brouette had stashed in the cupboard before the party. When he was ready, he slammed the book shut to get everyone's attention. "Class is in session. The word is _simoom_."

"Simoom," repeated Brouette. "Does anyone know it?"

"What eez zees game?" Gaston asked Ella.

"It's simple, Gaston. John chooses a word from the dictionary, and Max confirms that no one here knows it. John gives us three definitions, but only one is correct. It's up to us to guess the right one."

Gaston chuckled. "I like zees English games. Très amusants."

Brouette gave the go-ahead, and Bates began:

"Si-MOOM.  
S-i-m-o-o-m.  
One. A type of bootleg gin made from chrysanthemums.  
Two. A hot, suffocating wind blowing in the desert, especially in Arabia.  
Three. A quick-climbing monkey, native to South Africa, with six digits on each hand and foot."

A passionate debate began over the meaning of the word. In the end, Baker and Imogene voted for the monkey definition, Baker because she loved animals and Imogene because simoom and six began with the same two letters. The others, all except Nora, voted for the bootleg definition.

Nora defended her position. "I would have heard a word that had anything to do with prohibition. I'm from Chicago!"

The gang clamoured for Bates to divulge the answer.

"The wind definition is correct," revealed Bates. "You're the only one who guessed it, Nora. How did you know?"

"Because it sounds like what it is," reasoned Nora. "Simoooooom," she moaned.

Imogene shivered. "Nora, don't. You're giving me the willies."

"Simoooooooooooom, simoooooooooooooooooom," teased Nora as Thomas crept up behind Imogene and lightly brushed his fingers over her ear.

Imogene let out a shriek that made everyone laugh, and no one laughed louder than Imogene.

"Back to business," ordered Brouette. "John couldn't fool you, Nora. What say you?"

"Forfeit!" Nora replied, and the others voiced their approval.

Brouette took one of the ukuleles from the wall. "John, do you know the chorus of _Daisy Bell_?"

" _Bicycle Built for Two_? I know it." Brouette was letting him off easy.

"Do you know the tune of _Bye Bye Blackbird_?" Brouette played a bit of the chorus and Nora sang along.

Bates was confused. "Yes, I've heard it."

"John Bates, I command you to sing _Daisy Bell_ to the tune of _Bye Bye Blackbird_." Brouette played an introduction and nodded to Bates.

"Daisy, Daisy,  
Give me your answer, do!"

"Wrong tune, John!" Brouette began the introduction again.

Bates started and stopped and started and stopped. The third time Brouette played the introduction, Bates was laughing so hard he could not squeeze out another note. The others joined in his mirth, and Baker and Ella tried to help him by loudly humming the required melody.

Nora stood and pointed an accusing finger at Bates. "Interference! I demand a penalty Charleston."

A silence fell over the gang, and Bates caught the exchange of embarrassed glances.

"Oh, John! I'm sorry, I forgot!"

Bates picked up Old Ram. "No need for alarm, Nora. I can give you a Charleston."

"John, no!" objected Thomas.

Bates held a finger to his lips. He hobbled onto the dance floor with Old Ram as though he were a feeble old man. He turned to the gang and planted his good leg firmly on the floor. "Brouette, if you please."

Brouette's brow furrowed as he began to play _Sweet Georgia Brown_. Bates waited a moment to let the tension build and then executed the basic step, kicking back with his bad leg and using Old Ram as a leg for the forward kicks. His good leg never budged from the floor. His clever solution caught the gang by surprise, and they cheered and whistled. Nora joined Bates on the floor, dropped to her knees, and danced a wild Charleston with her arms.

More dancing, more games, more forfeits, more food. At one point, Bates found himself sitting at the counter eating cold spaghetti with Imogene. He was surprised to learn that the harem pyjamas she wore were not a discard from Lady Bennett but a remnant of Imogene's own youth. She was the daughter of a viscount who had fallen on hard times before the war. Gaston, she disclosed, had the opposite upbringing. He knew nothing of his family and grew up in a French orphanage where he was taunted by the other children for his Asian appearance. Early on, he cultivated a frightening exterior to protect his gentle interior.

Throughout the night, one guest after another would steal away to Ella's panel and make a contribution. Bates sat on the piano bench and painted with his chest resting on his knees. He created a simple pair of eyes that were looking away from the footprints. Gaston added brows that gave the eyes an air of confusion. Ella placed the eyes in a large champagne glass so that they appeared to be floating. Nora used the pastels to position a tempting sandwich in front of the eyes. Brouette also used pastels to produce the silhouette of a flapper balancing on one of the footprints. Imogene painted a woodpecker nibbling at the sandwich because, as she told Bates, she liked to paint birds. Bates wondered what Thomas would add. He claimed to have no artistic ability whatsoever. But Thomas was not discouraged. He picked up a pastel, applied it to his mouth as though it were lipstick, and kissed the edge of an eyebrow.

When the energy in the room dwindled, Gaston served savarin and Neapolitan ice cream. Bates smiled as he watched Thomas, tucked between Baker and Imogene on a mound of pillows, enjoying his cake and listening to the women's lively gossip.

Baker set down her dish. "Thomas, it's time you paid your debt."

"But, Josephine, we've been dancing together all night."

"That was the principal. Now you must pay the interest." Baker took Thomas' dish and set it next to hers. "You and me alone on the floor. You choose the music."

Thomas made his selection. "This one's for you, John," he called before placing the needle. " _Irish Black Bottom_."

Baker did not simply dance; her body bantered with the music, improvising moves to keep up her end of the conversation. Thomas, who always forgot himself on the dance floor, quickly joined the repartee. When the music ended, the gang went wild and insisted the couple dance again. Bates felt his chest swell. Only his little brother could keep pace with Baker's nimble limbs.

The pair danced again, and again the gang demanded more. Bates could see that Thomas had run out of steam. He eased his brother towards the door. "I hate to be the one to break up this soirée, but Thomas and I have to catch a plane this morning, and we haven't finished packing."

Ella, Nora, and Baker followed them into the corridor to say their goodbyes.

"So, John, will you tell your wife that you washed my feet?" queried Baker as she removed her turban.

"My wife? Dear lady, I'm going to tell anyone who'll listen that I washed the feet of Josephine Baker, and what a glorious pair of feet they were!"

The women laughed and bade farewell to the two men. Ella promised to keep her eye on Nora, and Nora rolled her eyes as she promised to listen to Ella's advice.

Baker pressed something into Thomas' good hand. "I believe you overpaid the interest, Thomas. This should make up the difference."

Thomas turned over his hand to find the strawberry brooch. He stood stunned for a moment. "Josephine ... I can't. It's too much."

"Help me out here, Ella. Tell him it's all right."

Ella closed Thomas hand over the brooch. "Usually, I would agree with you, Thomas, but I know Josephine. If you don't take it, it will end up lost behind some piece of furniture."

"It's for you to give your sister-in-law," added Baker.

Thomas gave Bates a questioning look. Bates never did understand this strawberry business between his wife and Thomas, but he smiled and gave a nod of approval.

Baker kissed Thomas' cheek and whispered something in his ear.

* * *

 **Thomas Barrow's Bedroom  
Maison de Bennett**

 **An hour later**

"By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea ..."

"Are you going to sing that all the way back to London?"

"Perhaps. You and me, you and me, oh how happy we'll be!"

"Pooh, I know it's not my business ..."

"What?"

"What did Josephine whisper to you before we left the party? If it's not too personal ..."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Silence.

"That's all right. Goodnight, Pooh."

"She said the brooch was for the man whose screams were finally heard."


	103. A Career

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

I've been remiss. For weeks now, I haven't delivered on my promise of a new chapter. I hate to be the kind of person who reneges on a promise. I am that kind of person, but I hate it! I will try to post more often by writing shorter chapters. A sincere thank you to all who haven't given up on an ending to this story.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 103, A CAREER**

 **The Bates Room**  
 **Grantham House, London**

 **That afternoon**

Bates opened his bag, but fatigue took command and ordered him to relieve his feet of their burden. He obeyed and dropped backwards onto the bed. Anna's voice was barely audible from the next room. Bates closed his eyes and pictured his wife fussing over Thomas, and Thomas wallowing in motherly affection. He knew that Thomas was paying for their night's revelry with a dreadful headache and bouts of dizziness. Yet, his little brother had awakened that morning with a grin and showed off the scraps of paper that spilled from his notebook, each with the name and address of a new friend. Then he swore Bates to secrecy as he tucked away Josephine's brooch for some special occasion when he would bestow the treasure on Anna.

With his eyes closed, Bates' senses filled with memories of Paris. Gaston's food. Pears soap. Charcoal-smeared fingers. Tickling. Silk pyjamas. American jazz. Women in underclothes. Soapy feet. Thomas crying. Thomas laughing. Thomas' red-painted lips. Rodin's statue. That damned statue. Bates still had not reconciled with the rawness of the thing. Could he ever create something as gut-wrenching? He tried to imagine himself with Rodin's great beard and beret and laughed ruefully. _What an old fool I am._

Bates heard Anna open and close the door, but he could not will himself into an upright position. His wife sat next to him and leaned back on an elbow. "Thomas is changing for bed. I'll go back in a few minutes and check on him." She began unbuttoning Bates' shirt. "You have time for a nap, if you like. Lord Grantham says he won't expect you until the gong. You look done in, Mr Bates."

"I am done in, Mrs Bates."

"Why don't you undress. I'll unpack your things."

"You spoil me."

"I like to spoil you."

"I like to be spoiled."

"If only that were true, Mr Bates."

Bates' weariness yielded to his affection for his wife, and he managed to sit up. He kissed Anna's welcoming lips and wished he could stall exhaustion as he did when he was younger. He knew what was hidden beneath Anna's modest dress – a figure that had grown the slightest bit rounder with each child. He found pleasure in her softer shape but dared not mention it. Modern fashion eschewed curves.

Anna returned her husband's kiss. "You have time to dawdle, my darling, but they'll send a search party for me if I stay too long." She pushed herself from the bed and turned her attention to her husband's bag, carefully moving aside the sketch Bates had shown her when he first arrived. "We'll have to hang this over the sofa when we get home."

"It's only an exercise, Anna. I'll have far too many to hang if I decide to delve further."

"You will delve further."

"You've decided that for me, have you, Mrs Bates?"

"Yes, I have. I can see you have an artist's eye, Mr Bates. Besides, a married man needs an interest outside of his marriage."

There was something in Anna's tone that disconcerted Bates. "What about a married woman?"

"The same goes for her."

A vague foreboding pushed Bates to his feet. "Anna, aren't you happy? Aren't the children and I enough for you?"

Anna turned and slipped her arms about Bates' waist and rested her cheek against his chest. "I'm happier than I ever expected to be, John, but ..."

"But ...?"

"It's not healthy for husbands and wives to be dependent on each other for all their happiness. It's important that you and I be able to find some satisfaction within ourselves."

"Within." Bates pulled back from his wife's embrace. "That's not how I was raised, Anna."

"I know, sweetheart, but perhaps if your mother had found something of her own, some passion in which she could have thrown herself, perhaps then she wouldn't have suffered so for the children she lost."

"My mother's passion was her family."

"I know, John."

"You kept that appointment with Gladys Cooper didn't you? To meet her ... her ..."

"... her wardrobe mistress. Certainly I kept it. Thomas took the time to set it up for me. I wasn't going to welcome him home by telling him that I didn't have the time to go."

Bates sat heavily on the bed. "And now you're to have a career, is that it?"

"It's not that simple, John. I have a great deal to learn first, just as you do with your charcoals. Why are you angry? I'm not angry about your sketch."

"I'm not angry ... I don't know what I am."

"I know that you're tired, and I know that I love you."

Bates sighed heavily. "What does it matter if I say I love you, if it's not enough for you?" Bates looked up to see a small smile playing on Anna's lips. "You're making me feel my age, macushla. I'm terribly old-fashioned, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are. It's one of your charms."

"So I have charms, do I?"

"One or two."

Bates chuckled. "I had a peculiar time in Paris, and I wasn't expecting to come home to something new. Let me get my bearings, and we'll talk about it tonight."

"Thank you, sweetheart." Anna began pulling items from her husband's bag and opening and closing drawers. "Thomas is exhausted too. Imagine him going to bed in the middle of the day. He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

Bates pulled off his shoes. "I think so. The concussion's the worst of it. I'm counting on you to enforce the doctor's orders. He'll take it more kindly from you."

"Doctor's orders?"

"To get enough rest ... especially once he's back to work."

"When will that be?"

Bates removed his shirt. "That depends on what the London doctor says tomorrow." He opened the night table drawer, found the aspirin, and downed the bitter remedy without water.

"Mr Bates, what on earth?"

Bates turned to see Anna pulling emerald pyjamas from his bag.

"There's a card here, too, and what's this? Is this a kimono?"

"Read the card, Anna. I don't have my glasses."

Anna pulled the card from its envelope. " _What a gay night we had, my friends! Who could have imagined us whiling away the time with the likes of Josephine Baker! Please keep these items for your next pyjama party as a token of Her Ladyship's affection (and mine). Max._ "

"Would you care to explain this, Mr Bates. I thought you went to Paris to rescue your beloved brother from kidnappers."

"Thomas rescued himself."

"Did you truly meet Josephine Baker?"

"Meet her?" Bates chuckled softly. "I washed her feet."

"What?"

Bates freed himself from his trousers." I have so much to tell you, Anna, but I can't think what." He crawled under the sheets. "Give the kimono and the card to Thomas. He'll be so ... so pleased ..." Bates was asleep before Anna could demand a more satisfactory answer.


	104. In the Style of Hilda Maude Hitchings

**CHAPTER 104: IN THE STYLE OF HILDA MAUDE HITCHINGS**

 **The Grantham House Parlour**

 **Nearly Tea Time**

"Is it true?" demanded Lady Mary as she and Henry joined the others for tea. "Is he wearing a cast?"

"And good day to you, Mary," greeted the Dowager without looking up from her copy of _The Sketch_.

Lady Mary adjusted her tone. "Welcome home, Granny. Now, about Barrow ..."

"He has a slight break in his hand," the Dowager replied. "The cast provides support and makes him more comfortable. I can't imagine that it's any concern of ours."

Lord Grantham sat next to his wife. "Surely it won't interfere with his primary duties."

Lady Mary made her disappointment known with a well-modulated sigh.

"We're not concerned with the performance of his duties," explained Henry. "It's the new tennis court."

The Dowager set down her paper. "What new tennis court?"

"We've had a tennis court installed at the house, Granny. The work will be done before we return to Downton. If all goes according to plan, and it will, we'll have it enclosed next year."

"I see," replied the Dowager. "So now we're to live in a public park."

"You know very well that Henry and I go to the club every day to play while we're in London. We want the convenience of our own court at Downton."

"Tennis is something Mary and I enjoy together," added Henry. "A shared sport is good for a marriage, don't you think?"

"Indeed," replied Lord Grantham. "Cora, would you care to join me for an impromptu game of cricket?"

"I would, Robert, but I've misplaced my bat."

"My, my, aren't you droll," murmured the Dowager through pursed lips. "I fail to see what a tennis court has to do with Barrow."

"When we play with our friends, we play doubles, Granny."

"We thought," continued Henry, "that we'd hire an instructor to work with us as a pair, but we need another couple to train with us."

The Dowager reopened her paper. "And you thought to play against the servants. Barrow and ..."

"Minnie, perhaps," answered Lady Mary. "She seems fit enough."

The Dowager turned a page. "And if the servants outplay you?"

"Not likely," smirked Lady Mary.

Henry cleared his throat. "It will only serve to improve our game."

"It hardly matters now," complained Lady Mary. "Even once the cast is removed, Barrow's hand may be ... unsuitable."

"Tell me, Robert," mulled the Dowager, her eyes still on her paper, "what was the name of that woman from New Zealand who played tennis years ago? Something with an H. You took Cora to see her play in London."

"I have no idea." Lord Grantham checked his watch. "Where's Minnie with the tea?"

"Be patient, Robert," scolded Lady Grantham. "Minnie and Mrs Hughes have their hands full without Barrow at the helm. And it may interest you to know that I remember the woman's name. Hilda Maude Hitchings. A handsome woman in spite of her height. I'm surprised you don't remember her, Robert. You found her inspirational at the time."

"Inspirational?" scoffed Lady Mary. "A tennis player?"

"Hitchings!" exclaimed Lord Grantham. "Now I remember. She was born with one arm."

Lady Mary rolled her eyes. "A tennis player with one arm? That's rich. So you and Mama watched this woman make a spectacle of herself in some wretched charity game and found her inspirational. What use is that to Henry and me?"

"Must you always find fault, Mary," Lord Grantham scolded lightly. "Your mother and I saw Hitchings play in a regular club tournament against stiff competition. She could have defeated the two of you easily."

"I'm certain she could have," placated Henry. "I, for one, would like to hear how she managed it. Wouldn't you, Mary?"

"Yes, of course, Papa. I'm afraid I let my disappointment get the better of me."

"Then we'll say no more about it." Lord Grantham stood to demonstrate. "Hitchings had a quick, low serve that was the devil to return. She held the racket in her last three fingers and the ball between her thumb and first finger. She would toss the ball up, twist the racket about, and hit, large as life and twice as natural. Of course, the woman never knew what it was to have two arms."

"Do you think Barrow could learn it, Papa?"

"If the doctor approves," cautioned the Dowager.

"Yes, Granny."

Lord Grantham returned to his seat, pleased with the success of his little show. "Possibly. Barrow's a clever man, and a determined one."

"Perhaps, you should ask the man if he wants to play tennis before you consider whether he can play tennis," suggested the Dowager as she studied the _Mariegold in Society_ column. Both Mrs Ronald Greville and Lady Cunard had honoured King Fuad of Egypt with dinners and extravagant entertainments while she had been in Paris, and that seemed excessive for a man who insisted on wearing a fez.

The discussion was brought to an end by the appearance of tea and the children. Master George ran to the display of delicacies, followed doggedly by Miss Katherine, who had just learned to walk. She was encouraged by Timothy, but he deserted her as soon as he caught sight of the Dowager, of whom he was becoming quite fond in spite of her formidable wrinkles. "Milady's home!"

"Thank you for noticing, Timothy. Not everyone has."

Master George diverted his attention from the sweets long enough to deliver a dutiful, "Good afternoon, Granny."

"Good afternoon, George." The Dowager patted the cushion next to her. "Bring us a plate, Timothy, and we'll have a conversation."

"A connamashun!" Timothy hurried to the table and gave Minnie's skirt a tug. "Milady's biscuits ... please!"

"Right, Timothy. Which ones?"

Timothy pointed to lemon cookies with jam centres. "Lotsa biscuits and ... dat." He pointed to a small cake topped generously with white icing. The boy balanced the plate carefully as he returned to the Dowager with Minnie in tow carrying a cup of tea.

"Mama," protested Lord Grantham, "don't you think you should spend time speaking to your great-grandchildren?"

"They know where I am, Robert. They need make only the slightest effort."

Timothy handed the plate to the Dowager and scrambled onto the cushion next to her.

"Now here's a young man who not only makes the effort but knows my favourite biscuit. But what's this, Timothy?" asked the Dowager, pointing to the cake. "I don't like an excess of icing."

"Mine," explained Timothy simply.

Lord Grantham chuckled. "Well done, my lad. Where's your sister? I don't see her."

"Wit mum, milord."

"I see." Lord Grantham looked up to see Miss Sybbie strolling into the room on her father's arm. She wore a simple, short-sleeved rose dress with a white Peter Pan collar and a shirred drop-waist. A bow of long, narrow red ribbon fell from her collar. "Here's another of our brood, Mama. Let's see if she reflects a little better on us."

"Granny, you're home!" Miss Sybbie ran to the Dowager and kissed her cheek.

"Sybbie pretty," Timothy whispered to the Dowager as he spread his hands wide apart to indicate measurement. "Dis much."

The Dowager returned the boy's whisper, "You have excellent taste, Timothy," and the boy sat a little taller.

Miss Sybbie sat on the Dowager's other side. "Granny, is it true that Mr Barrow was kidnapped?"

"What dat?" demanded Timothy. "Kid-apped?"

"Barrow's an Englishman," replied the Dowager. "He was in a terrible situation, but he remained calm, as any proper Englishman would, until he found a solution. We wouldn't want to mention it again and embarrass him, would we?"

Miss Sybbie's eyes were large, but she nodded in agreement. "No, granny."

"What kid-apped?" clamoured Timothy. "Where Uncle Pooh?"

"You'll see him soon, my boy," assured Lord Grantham. "He's resting in his room."

Timothy plopped the cake onto his napkin and slid off the sofa. "For Uncle Pooh." He grabbed the napkin and ran out before Nanny could catch him.

"I'm afraid you've been abandoned, Mama."

"The boy understands the importance of family, Robert. He and I are friends, but he and Barrow are family."

* * *

 **The Dowager's Sitting Room**

 **Two Days Later**

"You may enter."

Barrow opened the door to find the Dowager sitting at her writing table. "How may I be of service, milady?"

"That depends. Has the doctor released you to work?"

"No, milady. I've been ordered to rest and relax and breathe fresh air, as if there were any of that in London. I'm not to read or write or go to the cinema. The doctor will check me again in two days."

"Patience, Barrow."

"Yes, milady, only it's difficult to sit by while Mrs Hughes is forced to manage all the packing for Downton."

"Mrs Hughes managed very well during the war without our lads. I'm certain she can manage a few days without you."

"I didn't mean to disparage Mrs Hughes' ability. Only that it's unfair to her."

"Understood. Would handing me the box on the tea table violate the doctor's order?"

"Certainly not, milady." Thomas scooped up the large, narrow box with his good hand and found that it was not heavy. He handed it to the Dowager.

"What are those bruises on your forehead, Barrow?"

"Must I say?"

"I'm afraid you must."

"I tend to forget about the cast, milady."

"I don't understand."

Thomas demonstrated. "I'm in the habit of smoothing my hair with my left hand and have hit myself with the cast a few times." He could see that the Dowager was pressing her lips together in an effort not to smile. "The doctor says that a bit of clumsiness isn't unusual after a concussion, but I believe he was trying to save me embarrassment."

"If you persist, he'll have to wrap either the cast or your head in cotton. You will try to control yourself, won't you, my boy?"

Thomas was surprised by the endearment he thought the Dowager had left behind in Paris. "I'll do my best, milady."

The Dowager opened the box to reveal a tennis racket and a package of balls. "Pick up the racket, Barrow, and tell me if it's suitable for a man."

Thomas picked up the racket and admired it. He stepped clear of the Dowager and the furniture and swung forward and back at an imaginary ball. "I find it quite suitable."

"Excellent. It's yours."

Thomas froze. He returned the racket to its box. "I appreciate the thought, milady, but I couldn't possibly accept."

"I beg your pardon."

"Milady, I received innumerable kindnesses from Your Ladyship and Lady Bennett and ..."

"You may continue to call her Ella. That's her preference."

"I will be fully recovered soon and cannot continue to accept your charity. Something unfortunate happened to me, but I have never cared to think of myself as a victim."

"That was a pretty speech, Barrow."

"I hope I didn't offend you, milady. It wasn't my intention."

"Then perhaps the speech needs to be reworked, my boy."

Thomas looked at the Dowager, confused. There was that endearment again.

The Dowager set the box on her writing table. "Let's change the topic for a moment, shall we? You've been ordered to rest, Barrow. Please have a seat while we talk. Or would you perceive that as charity?"

"No, milady," Thomas answered quietly as he sat.

"Tell me, Barrow, what's your opinion on the subject of humility?"

"Humility?"

"Yes. Whether or not it's a desirable quality."

"That's an interesting question."

"There's no need to flatter me, Barrow."

"I wasn't ... no, milady. Let's see. I'd have to say my opinion has changed over my lifetime. When I was a young man, I had no use for humility. I thought it a sign of weakness. But my arrogance never brought me happiness. In fact, it made me dreadfully unhappy. The day came when I chose to model myself after my brother. John Bates is a humble man, at least, most of the time, don't you think, milady?"

"I'm not in a position to judge. Most servants have mastered the appearance of humility for the sake of their employers, whether or not the quality truly exists. Isn't that so, my boy?"

Thomas nodded. "Yes, milady. But my brother works to embody the spirit of humility, not the appearance of the thing, as do I ... although I must admit to failing regularly."

"And has it made you a happier man, in spite of your failures?"

"Yes, milady. That I can answer without hesitation. Others like me better, and I like myself better. It's easier to live with myself."

"I thought that might be the case. You see, my boy, there's someone dear to me whom I believe could use a dose of humility, but we'll leave names out of it, shall we."

"As you wish, milady."

"And you will help your old friend?"

Thomas had to admit to himself that he become fond of the old woman while they were in Paris. "If I'm truly a humble man, milady, then I would not consider it my due to dole out doses of humility to others."

"Humility can be quite an inconvenience."

"Yes, milady."

"Would it be within the realm of possibility for a humble man to indulge a friend's desire to see how excellent a tennis player he could become?"

"Why do I feel as though I'm being manipulated, milady?"

"Perhaps it's because you are being manipulated, my boy."

Thomas laughed and bowed his head. "I am your humble pawn, milady. But how can I play tennis with a cast on my hand?"

"I will instruct you."

"You!"

"Certainly, me. You need your left hand only to get the ball into play, isn't that true?"

"You mean to serve the ball, milady."

"Serve. Yes, that's the word."

"I suppose that's true."

"Unwrap one of the balls, and I'll show you how it's done in the style of Hilda Maude Hitchings."

"Who?"

"Never mind, my boy. Let's get down to it."


End file.
